The Kindly Ones
by Krahae
Summary: Childhood teaches us many lessons. Some, more useful than others. Be careful. Be sure, and above all else, blend in. Vastly AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Kindly Ones**_

**Chapter One**

_Justice is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity. Those who clearly recognize the voice of their own conscience usually recognize also the voice of justice._  
– Alexander Solzhenitsyn

Tough.

Mind cast back many years, Harry remembered that word fondly. Sitting with his arm broken – but only a dull ache for now, a content smile spread across his face as the pool of blood spread from the cooling body across the room, finally reaching his shoes. His eyes rose as the woman choked on the fluid from the severed artery, spurting equally into her own throat as onto the floor. His aim was improving.

Still, it wasn't the word itself, so much as the memories that sprung up from that day. Memories and the mentor that made glorious days like today possible. Pity he would need new shoes, though.

-

* * *

-

It wasn't a word the young boy had heard directed at him in a good way yet. Maybe he was just hearing things. "Excuse me, sir?"

Leaning down and picking him up by the elbow easily, the policeman, dressed in a rather severe uniform and with his hat on and everything, gave him a slight smile. "I said, you're pretty tough, aren't you. It's not important," waving off any reply the young boy may have had, the man looked after the fleeing bullies with a frown. "Know them?"

Green eyes automatically shot to the piggish boy, huffing in the back of the group of four. "No, sir."

The man tilted his head, and the hat followed, making the small boy's lips quirk in a grin. He immediately hissed in pain, as the split in his lower opened further. "Now, now. Lets get that looked at."

"I need to be heading home," looking back at the way the troupe of older and larger boys had gone, the boy seemed ready to bolt. In truth, he wanted to. He was warned many, many times not to talk to police, and not to get his cousin in trouble. This smacked of trouble.

Ian Grieve reached out and snatched the child up by his collar, seeing the intent clear enough. Sighing to himself, the man looked back to the alleyway, seeing a head duck back on the other side, watching them. Looking back at the scrap of a child, he was again irritated at how far some things had to go, before someone acted. Grimy, looking like he'd not washed in a week, and then beaten severely. Glancing over his thin arms, Ian's lips drew into a line. And not the first time. "Hold on a moment. Did I just see four other boys roughing you up?"

Shaking his head, the small boy refused to meet the man's eyes. "No sir."

"Now, I know I asked them to stay here, but they ran off. Do you happen to know any of them?" Officer Grieve would bet fair money the boy knew them all, at least by name. If he thought about it a moment, at least one seemed familiar enough to him already.

Shivering now after the adrenaline of the moment had worn off, the little boy shook his head again. "No sir, don't know any of them." Trying to shrug the man's hand off, he winced as his shoulder screamed at him. Without thinking he whimpered as his knees went slack.

Seeing this child nearly fall, Ian made a judgment call. Picking him up, he carried the wincing child to his car, and set him in the passenger seat. "Alright. Well I can't have you out after curfew... so lets go for a ride. Now, usually it's polite to introduce yourself before you start asking questions... let me apologize for that. My name's Officer Grieve. You can call me Ian though, I let all my friends call me Ian," letting his voice go conversational, the policeman settled into the squad car, making sure his passenger was seated safely.

Moments wore on, as the two sat, and finally Ian decided to try another tactic. "Now, I can call you 'you', or 'young man', but that's going to be confusing at some point. Do you have a name I can call you by?"

"I'm... not supposed to talk to strangers."

Masking his frustration, Ian laughed. "Oh, you're a smart one too. That's good, and you're right. But you know," gesturing at the car, Officer Grieve smiled at the little boy, and got him to at least look up. "I am a policeman. We're the ones you go to, if you're in trouble. That means you can trust us."

Swallowing, the child heaved a sigh and tried to huddle by the door. "Harry."

"Harry? Fine name, yes. We have a Harry at the station, very good man." Picking up the receiver to his radio, Ian smiled. "Station, Officer Grieve, copy."

"Station here, Officer, go ahead." Harry listened, having only heard such conversations in the odd movie snippets he could manage, from the cupboard. Somewhat more curious than wary, he peered over his shoulder to the man and his radio set.

Smiling, Ian pointed to a small battery of switches, then pointed to the roof of the car. The young boy cottoned on and started playing with them, with his good arm as Ian started the vehicle. Out in the winter snows, the lights could be seen to flicker and beam. "I have an W1, maybe seven years old, possible 273a, subject to 240 and 242. Parties still at large, and I have young Harry, here with me. Station, I told him that I have a friend named Harry there, can you put them on for me?"

The other line paused, and Harry flicked the lights over the car on and off as they drove. "Ian, I'm surprised you didn't recognize me," Officer Grieve smiled, glad that Alan got the hint so easily. "Harry, are you listening?"

"Here you go, son. Chat with them while I drive. Just press that button on the side," Ian handed the handset over, to a wide-eyed young boy.

"H-hello?"

Alan heard the wavering tone and his heart went out to Ian. After a moment, the dispatch officer shook his head and painted on a smile. "Good afternoon, Harry. Nice to meet someone with a name like mine. Bet your last name isn't the same though, mine's Wilson."

"Potter, sir."

Noting the child's name, Alan flagged down one of the duty officers, and had them start on records. "Harry Potter, huh? Well that's a good name, bit more interesting than Harry Wilson. Is that your father's name? Or your mothers?"

Confused, the young boy looked to Ian, who he could have sworn was looking at him a moment ago. "Um. Father's, and mother's sir."

"Oh, well good then, good to know they're both about."

"No, sir," looking away, Harry heaved a sigh and seemed to choke back something he'd thought to say. "They aren't."

Alan winced, and scratched out the note he was working on, to make another. "I'm so sorry, lad. You're not staying at an orphanage are you? You have family?"

Eyes narrowing, Harry looked from Ian to the radio for a moment, thinking about his answer. Officer Grieve noticed this, as the young child was anything but subtle in his suspicions and wariness. Lips thinning, he was beginning to see a pattern. "It's OK son," he said soothingly. "Harry's a good man, he just wants to know if there's someone he can call, to let know what's going on. People worry, if their children are out so late, and they don't know where."

"Oh," turning back to the radio, Harry's expression turned scared. Vernon could care less if he was well, or out late. He would care about police coming by, or asking questions. Oh what to do! He couldn't tell them about the Dursleys! His uncle had warned him, never, never ever to talk to the police, and even beyond that, never mention them. The beating he'd taken over simply asking why was reason enough not to think about it again. "They... they're out of town."

"Did they leave you alone, then?"

Stupid Harry, this isn't working! How to get out of this, how to... "No, no. I'm staying with some friends of my family," gaining confidence in his lie, the young boy went on quickly. "I'm staying there while my family is abroad. I was... just on the way there, yes. Tonight. My first night there."

Ian looked over and saw the look on Harry's face, and then turned back to the road. "Harry, who are the people you're staying with now?"

"Vernon Dursley and his family. They were expecting me, so I should get there soon, or they'll worry," he said quickly.

Nodding, Officer Grieve flicked on the small switch that let his radio stay in transmit mode. "So, Harry, just to make sure I understand. Your family is out of town, and you were on the way to these Dursleys, when I found you? And they're expecting you."

"Yes sir."

"And this isn't where you normally stay?"

"No sir."

Running a hand along his chin and the neatly trimmed beard there, Ian nodded. "OK, Harry. Well, I need to stop off at the station and get something, but we'll only be there a minute. Would you mind keeping me company till then? You can use the radio, and keep your namesake on the other side company for me."

"I... I really should be getting back home," Harry whispered, hoping desperately they'd not keep him. The longer he stayed with this man, the more Vernon would be cross. And that was already a certainty, as far as he knew.

"You know how dangerous these times are, Harry," Ian said lightly, smiling at the boy. "You keep the other Harry on the line for me, so I don't have to be out alone. We'll get a spot of tea and maybe a biscuit, and then back to your family."

Harry's stomach answered for him, at the mention of food.

-

* * *

-

As he wandered about the Station, Harry boggled at how many people smiled at him. It was simply unreal. He'd been at school for two years now, and with the Dursleys six, as they kept reminding him.

He must be grateful for the time he'd spent under their hospitality, Harry reminded himself. He could have had to fend for himself, like they always told him.

Still, in all that time, the neighbors, schoolmates and visitors he'd seen all treated him with at best distant aversion. Harry assumed it was his freakishness, as his uncle called it. Something from his father. It always sent the man into a rage whenever he felt the need to remind Harry to keep such things to himself, but for the life of the young boy, he couldn't recall what it _was_.

It was just him. Something about Harry made uncle Vernon mad.

These people must not know about the freakishness. That's why they're so nice, Harry reasoned finally, after accepting a warm cup of tea and sitting at a table in a rather cluttered but homey room.

"Excuse me sir," he began, trying to drink the strong tea slowly, as not make himself sick. "I must be getting back soon. It's late." His eyes widened as a young woman brought in a tray of cakes and cookies, and sat them on the table. Swallowing hard, Harry wrenched his eyes back to Officer Grieve. "Please."

Ian was sure of his suspicions at this point. He'd picked up a light report, and what he'd read wasn't good, at all. Harry was the son of a young couple who'd disappeared some years ago, and was currently staying with his mother's sister. Family name, Evans, married name Dursley, of course. "Oh, I'm sorry Harry. I have to do just a spot of work, then I can run you back," Ian apologized, gesturing at the platter Wendy had brought in. "Why don't you have a snack?"

"Sir?"

Blinking at the young man, Ian knelt down beside his chair. "You can have some of those if you like, Harry."

Green eyes wide again, Harry smiled and reached out, wincing as he'd used the wrong arm. Ian immediately called for someone while Harry shuffled his tea between hands so he could reach better.

Patricia Greenstead wasn't accustomed to being called into officer's spaces, to see to her duties. When she'd looked to Ian severely, expecting some answers, he's merely pointed with his chin to the desk. When she saw the emaciated, bruised and bloodied young child there, she nearly screamed at him for not bringing him directly to her. Only a firm hand on her arm and a quick pull outside kept her mouth shut.

But only for a moment. "Ian Grieve what the devil are you doing with him up here, and keeping me from him?" Reaching to open the door again, she was rebuffed as the man stood between her, and it. "Explain, Ian, before I get the Captain."

"Pat, just cool off a moment," the man ordered her, his voice low. "Just hear me out."

"You have one minute. Starting half ago."

"Damn it, Pat," sighing, Ian gathered himself. "I picked him up, after seeing some young roughs beating him in the park. He obviously knew them, hell I think one was related to Antony Polkiss. Had his face," smoothing back his hair, Ian leaned on the wall by the door, now that he had Pat's attention. "I asked him about family, and he got dodgey."

The part time nurse, usually on staff as often as half a week on loan from the local hospital, let her brow rise at that. "You think-"

"Neglect? Probably. Abuse? Likely," the man finished quietly, looking to her steadily. "He's wary. I think he's been warned off talking to the police. Which in itself, in damning. We can't force him, we can't hold him. I'm stalling as-is. I need you to get me something to go in with."

"I think I can do that. Brief me."

Harry sat happily, trying to offset his need to get back to the Dursleys and avoid Vernon's wrath, with the hunger that was threatening to turn him inside out with so much food nearby. He'd had one cake, and desperately wanted another. Mouth watering, he was reaching to take up his second when the door opened slowly, and a woman peered in. "Harry?"

Snatching his hand back, Harry looked to the woman guiltily. "Yes ma'am?"

Patricia schooled her features, on seeing him again. Here sat a very, very badly treated young boy, in what looked like cast-off clothes for someone twice his size. Ratty and unwashed, the clothes had an awful odor, reminding her of a pet store. "Harry, I was going to take you down to the little infirmary and get you a fresh change of clothes, but to do that, I'll need you to tell me some things. Would you like some better fitting clothes?"

"I'm... these are alright," he said warily, not knowing what this woman wanted from him. New clothes?

"Heavens no," laughing at the young man, she smiled reassuringly. "No, those won't do at all. You want to meet the _Captain_ don't you? You see, usually visitors are taken to get a new pair of clothes, to meet him in if theirs are a little old, or dirty." She'd said the word Captain with intended emphasis, hoping the young man shared most of his age group's fascination with the force, and the romanticized action entailed. Gesturing to herself, Patricia made a little spin for Harry. "My uniform, for instance. The Station gave me this. Would you like to see the Captain? We just need to get you into a new change of clothes.

"I'm sure Ian forgot to tell you about them, but Ian here is a bit of a rule-breaker," grinning at the Officer in question, she turned back to Harry. "Would you mind? This way I don't get in trouble."

Looking down at his clothes, Harry bit his lip. "I'm sorry, I know they're dirty-"

"Shush. It's alright, we aren't judging. Come along. Ian! Get that snack tray, Harry's barely started it."

As they walked, Officer Grieve handed him another cake. "Harry, you can trust Patricia. She's a nice woman."

Eying the man warily, Harry gave a curt nod, while nibbling on the baked good. "Yes sir."

Shortly he was lead into what he assumed was a changing room, but it was the biggest one he'd ever seen. One full wall was mirror, while there was a huge table in the middle for clothes, he assumed. "You wait here. I'll bring in your change of clothes, and Ian here will let the Captain know you're almost ready."

Harry sat with his cakes and cookies and tea and boggled again. Why were they being so nice to him? This certainly didn't sound like the way Vernon told him the police would be like. In fact, this wasn't how anyone had acted around him.

Ian and Patricia eyed each other once the door shut. "What are you on about?"

Pat shook her head slowly, "He won't let us get close. That much is obvious. You get the recorder running, get Alan and the Captain. I'll get you your warrant." As she walked to the infirmary, Pat murmured angrily about systems and holes and cracks and people falling through them.

William was still on duty when she arrived, which was the one kink in her plan, were he to be already off on the way home. "Will, I need a favor."

-

* * *

-

Maybe fifteen minutes and five cakes later, the nurse returned with a small khaki bundle of cloth in her hand. "Well, Harry I have to apologize. I couldn't find a suit in your size, but we can't have you meeting the Captain in those clothes. This will do. I'll just turn my back, and if you need help, let me know.

Looking over the khaki jumper, Harry had to wonder that they had one in his size. Still, he had no idea how police stations worked, so figuring it best not to get his hosts in trouble – that would delay him he figured, he started peeling off his rags and changing.

Patricia kept her eyes glued to the side mirror, watching as more bruises, new and old were revealed. When Harry cried out from trying to get his shirt free, she turned with a surprised look. "Here, let me help."

"No it's-"

"I insist, I am a nurse after all. It's what we do," she said quietly, inspecting Harry's back as she carefully untangled the shift from an obviously twisted, possibly minor dislocation of the shoulder. "Harry, I need you to tell me the truth a moment." Looking pointedly at the mirror, she turned so those on the other side could see the ragged wells and bruises that littered the boy's back.

Her tone changed, Harry swallowed, and nodded.

Mouth pulled to a terse line, Patricia looked at the joint with a wary eye. "I can tell your arm has been bothering you all night. Will you tell me how you hurt it? I can make it feel better if so."

Shaking, Harry was at an impasse. If he told on Dudley, and got him in trouble somehow, Vernon would be unbelievably cross. Considering the small ache now, with what could be, Harry shook his head fervently.

Sighing, the nurse delicately ran her fingers over the boy's shoulder blade. "Then I'm sorry, but this will hurt a bit."

"What do you-" crying out, Harry's vision grayed at the edges as the woman pulled sharply on his arm suddenly. He heard a sick pop and felt his arm go numb, after flaring angrily with pain. The dull ache was gone, but oh how it's leaving stung! Tears welling up in his eyes, Harry blinked furiously, refusing to do more than he had.

-

* * *

-

"Tough," Ian stated again, watching Patricia reset the boy's shoulder. He'd had his own dislocated once, falling off a stair and grabbing for purchase. He never wanted to have that sensation be his again. "Not sure that's a good thing, at this point."

Captain Brian nodded, his lined face reddening with anger. "You've shown me enough, Ian. When he's dressed, your warrant will be on the duty counter. Get me some bloody answers."

Brow rising, Officer Grieve saluted as his commanding officer left the observation room, on the other side of the mirror.

-

* * *

-

Avoiding the bulk of the bruises and scrapes on Harry's back, nurse Greenstead helped the young boy into the khaki jumper she'd commandeered from the youth lockers. Usually those were kept for the odd child without a workout suit during the weekend Boy's School outing, where they'd come to practice self defense. She figured it wouldn't be missed. "Now, isn't that comfy?"

"Yes ma'am."

Tutting, Patricia smiled at Harry and ran a hand through his rather messy hair. "Call me Pat, Harry."

Hesitating a moment, Harry nodded and looked back up at the woman. "Yes ma'am... I mean yes, Pat."

Nodding back, she straightened his jumper slightly. "There. Right as rain. Lets go see the Captain." With a smile, she lead Harry back outside, knowing the same Captain was likely having a drink to settle his nerves, after seeing the state of Harry's back, if her guess was right.

-

* * *

-

Harry wasn't sure what was going on, but to be honest, he was having a grand time. First, he'd met some very friendly people, who didn't seem to think badly of him. Then, he'd gotten to ride in a police car, and see the inside of a Station! He wondered how many other people his age had done so. The cakes and cookies and tea were very good as well, and he'd not been so well fed he thought in weeks. Warm, sleepy and comfortable in the rather plush jumper, it was easy to nod off, as he rode beside Ian. Officer Grieve, that is.

Glancing to his passenger, Ian smiled, before sweeping his eyes to the mirrors, seeing the Captain and Patricia in the next car back. Behind them, would be the two officers Captain Brian had called onto the case.

The file on Vernon Dursley said little – the man was a non-entity. No record, no outstanding anything. His son had been cited twice for violence and belligerence in his school, but no outstanding record was made. The vagueness made them wonder if perhaps something else was going on that they'd missed.

Also disturbing was Vernon's work record. Not in that it was bad, quite the contrary. If Harry were indeed staying there as a ward of the Dursleys, there was no reason at all for him to be so malnourished, and wearing such horrid clothes.

Patricia was adamant about burning them, in fact. She'd lied to Harry and said they were being cleaned, for him.

Of Vernon Dursley's wife, there was even less. Apparently a homemaker, she was Harry's only surviving blood relation.

Pulling up to 4 Privet, Ian looked about himself at the carbon copy homes and grimaced. All rather well to do, at least middle class. Again, he looked at the painfully thin and bruised boy beside him, lightly dozing with his arms crossed across himself.

He almost envied Gregory and Charles their work, questioning the family.

-

* * *

-

Captain Gerard Bennet Brian watched as his officers went to question the man, Vernon. From his vantage in the car, he only saw the man's at first hostile, then utter submissive reaction to his men's initial introduction. Brian could only assume the man was expecting Harry, and thus his anger when opening the door.

Shortly, his men were invited inside.

After only three minutes, they were walking back out, one with Vernon sputtering and yelling back at the officer, pushing him forward with a hand on his shoulder. Already cuffed, the corpulent man and his son, while a rather stridently protesting horse-faced woman were escorted to the waiting car.

Snorting, the man shook his head as the fat fool spotted Harry's car, Harry still sitting there in the seat apparently, and forgetting himself went to lunge at it. A swift swing of a baton dissuaded the man.

Sadly, it only seemed to increase the woman's volume.

Rolling his eyes, Captain Brian lamented his staff's intact chivalry, and his lack of foresight in bringing only male arresting officers.

-

* * *

-

Morning sunlight picked out the details Harry had missed in the room, the night before. Officer Grieve's room in the Station seemed very lived in, aside from the couch, which he knew was well used. It had that squishy, dented and often-slept-in feel.

Having woken on the same, Harry wondered why he was still here. Didn't he get taken back to the Dursley's last night? A noise and motion to his side had the young man searching for his glasses.

"To your right, just by the foot of the couch at your head," the voice of Ian stated, coming from the vague blur near the room's door. Taking up his glasses, Harry blinked at the man as he came in with a small tray of food, and a glass of juice. "Once you've had some breakfast, I'd like to talk with you a bit, Harry."

Nodding, the young boy happily ate, only wondering idly now about the Dursleys, and his absence. These people had treated him so nicely, had been so nice. He wished it would never end, but dreaded the eventuality. It wasn't how things worked for Harry Potter.

Closing the door quietly on the boy and his breakfast, Officer Grieve turned to the Captain, looking more grim than usual, even for a Monday morning. "Sir," snapping to attention, Grieve wondered what would have the man here so early, but figured it would have something to do with his charge, in the office.

"At ease, Ian, this isn't the military," Brian chided, settling against the wall opposite with a sigh. "Just came by to give you the news directly." Expression going grim, he continued at Ian's curious look, "And keep you out of holding."

Automatically Ian straightened, quelling his rising suspicions. "Sir?"

Nodding at the man's restraint, even given the circumstances, Brian motioned the officer to follow him. "I have the full report so far, from Patricia once we got the young man back in, and from the Dursleys home and questioning. Now, officially there was no case till Patricia examined Harry, but I want to make this very clear. You are not to pursue, or follow up on this investigation. Period."

Stalling in the hallway outside his commanding officer's door, Ian had to make sure he heard the man correctly. "Ah... yes. Sir." So. That's how it was. Sighing, the officer prepared himself for a trying morning.

"Have a seat." Settling himself behind the large desk that dominated the room, Captain Brian pulled a rather thick and new looking file to the center of the desk. "Our preliminary report. So far... well Harry's case is going to be handled by Child Services, and the department is going to be cooperating with their actions. I'll give you today, since you were the one to bring this in, to look over files and evidence." Pushing the large file across the desk, the ranked officer looked Grieve over carefully. "Can you stay objective on this?"

"Sir." Still reeling slightly at being put in this situation again, Ian looked at the reports, thumbing to relevant pages with easy practice. Medical examination reported four broken ribs, none of which had been treated properly before mending. At least seventy-five percent of the bones in the boy's arms had been fractured in the past, and he had a badly twisted shoulder currently. That he'd not suffered complications from those was miracle enough. Patricia suggested strongly a thorough examination, at the hospital.

Domestically, the results were still coming in. They had trouble locating exactly where the child had been kept, and were debating bringing in dogs when one of the on-site investigators found a cupboard that seemed to be where he had been locked up. Rereading that passage, Ian's eyes narrowed. "Sir, am I to understand that filth locked Harry in a closet room, where he was unable to so much as leave for the use of facilities regularly?"

Nodding gravely, Brian went about pouring himself a glass of Gin. "His health is just above the level one would expect in a third world country. Remarkably, he seems to have come out of it all without much permanent damage. Resilient little guy."

"Permission to speak to the family, sir."

"Declined," Brian stated firmly. "You will neither approach, nor take part in this investigation. This isn't Aaron, Officer Grieve. Your son, tragic as that case was, cannot be helped. Harry's case is his own."

Closing his eyes and taking a breath to calm the anger swelling in his chest, Ian nodded, finally. "Understood. May I then speak to Child Services in regard to Harry's future arrangements."

Captain Brian had expected this, but in truth had little answer for the man. He knew it wasn't healthy for Ian to fixate so on Harry, considering his own son's tragic loss, but then, perhaps they two could help one another. "Granted. If you find a leave needed, to get things organized, submit the form to personnel, I'll approve it."

"Thank you sir," standing, Ian made to leave but Brian's hand came across and took him by the shoulder.

"Take Harry by the house today, so he can collect his things. And remember what I told you."

-

* * *

-

Though Harry understood part of what Officer Grieve told him... it still seemed unreal. Vernon and Petunia... even Dudley being held? Over how they'd treated him. Blinking in the sun as Ian drove him back to the only home he'd known, Harry thought back on things and found himself more confused than ever. "Sir?"

"Yes Harry?"

"Why... why would they do that? I don't..." trailing off, Harry stifled a sniffle and fixed his eyes intently ahead. He'd been afraid before, he's even been bitter and unhappy, in plentiful amounts. This... this was new.

All these years, of his 'family' telling him he was abnormal, a freak. Telling everyone he came in contact with he was some aberrant, degenerate or charity case, and in truth they were the ones in the wrong. He'd had no reason to believe otherwise. Closing his eyes, Harry felt the desire to harm, to hurt them back for all they'd done to him. Instinct almost quelled such a thing, but he struck at it savagely, with memories of his own pain. Each time his conscience would remind him that revenge was wrong, he remembered being beaten. Crying himself to sleep over an aching chest, or arm. Nights that became days without food. Eventually, that little voice grew silent.

All he knew, was them. All he knew, was what they'd taught him, what they'd told him. It was a wonder Harry had survived, the woman Patricia had told him the night before. Too sleepy to understand then, Harry hadn't considered such a thing in the scope of what was now happening.

Reaching over, Ian laid a hand across Harry's shoulder, trying to reassure the young man. "Some people are just wrong, Harry. They can't bring themselves up any higher, and so find someone to take down, to make themselves feel better. Those are the kind of people we work to put away."

Nodding, Harry swiped a damp nose across his sleeve. "What's going to happen to them?"

Ian's lips thinned, as they drove a moment in silence. In truth, he knew that were the injuries, the conditions something more recent, maybe a bit worse, the Dursleys would likely be in jail a long, long time. As it was, with the proof historic and the conditions horrid but not critical... likely the filthy lot would be back in their home within the week, with the case stuck in courts for months.

Harry would be remitted to state care, and likely placed in an orphanage till an appropriate family could be found. All the Dursley's claim to the boy would be forfeit. As for a home... well till the CS could place him, Ian was more than happy to help the child.

Pulling up to the home, Ian sat with Harry for some time, just looking at the place silently. He had no idea what kind of things Harry would be thinking right now, but hoped the young boy would talk with him, if he felt the desire. "They aren't here. It's just you, and me. Ready?"

Nodding, Harry opened his door, shortly followed by Ian.

-

* * *

-

Inside, the home was precisely what Ian had figured. Upper-middle class decoration, tacky, obviously the woman Petunia's doing. He found little of anything that would actually indicate a man lived here, outside of the den and the television, which was better than average. Walking to the kitchen, Ian checked the refrigerator and the pantry, noting the rather excessive stocking in each. Perishables that would last a three families for a week, but would expire much too soon for one.

Sighing, Ian knew he was simply stalling the inevitable. Walking back to the entryway, he saw the evidence tapes and tags on the door, waiting for him. Along the edge, he saw the locks, and knew well why the Captain had forbade him to speak to the filth that did this. Slipping the tape loose, he opened the door and immediately drew back.

Ammonia and the stale smell of captivity assaulted him, bringing him to coughing and choking behind a hand. "Bloody hell," he swore, looking back though watering eyes. There on the floor was a broken and stained mattress, little better than a crib pad if he was honest. Dust, broken toys, and chips of wood and plaster were the only other things in the room. Off in the corner, a hole had been broken into the house's underpinning, obviously for Harry's use.

Slamming the door shut, Ian stood back and took a number of deep breaths, not only to calm his nerves but to banish that smell from his memory.

"Harry?" Realizing he'd let his attentions wander, Ian cursed and went about looking for the lad. He needed to keep a level head, with the young boy, and getting bent up by his anger was not the way to do so.

-

* * *

-

While Ian seemed to be investigating the house, Harry walked to his cupboard and stood outside it, looking blankly at the tape that crisscrossed it. Harry wondered what Ian meant, by "Gather his things." Harry didn't have things.

He did have a good memory, for what had happened though. Few things defined themselves in that, but one of those came to him, as he walked up the stairs idly.

Vernon had beaten him with a belt, many, many times. One time, after he'd been found to have gotten better grades than Dudley in school, something Harry found more work to do than actually succeed, Vernon had been particularly foul.

It was a Friday, and like most of Vernon's Fridays, he came home drunk and loud and angry. Apparently he was the butt of most of his employer's and coworkers jokes, and though he could have begged off the social event, the stupid man had little spine for actually standing up to people of his own stature. Dudley spent little time winding the corpulent man up into a rage, and Harry had slipped during the initial beating.

He'd said it was too hard to be stupider than Dudley.

Furious, the man had seized him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs, then thrown him across the room they'd entered. Harry, dazed had lain there, shaking off the pain and impact for a few moments till he realized he was in the bath.

Only a few seconds of confusion lasted, till the fat man returned, and this time he didn't have a belt.

The knife was huge, at least to Harry's eyes. Perhaps it was the fear in him, or the anger of Vernon or both, but the thing looked as big as a sword. Later, Harry would realize it little more than just a wicked hunting knife, but it still gave him nightmares.

Crossing the hall to the bedroom, Vernon's bedroom specifically, Harry opened the door and instinct had him ducking and looking about warily. Stepping quickly to the man's dresser, Harry remembered what Vernon had told him, waving that wicked thing under his nose. "No further than a reach from my bed. You remember that, freak. Remember that you owe me that worthless hide of yours, for all these years, and I'll not hesitate to skin it off you!"

The upper right hand drawer was the one. Reaching in, Harry took out the sheathed knife, and turned to leave the room. Not looking back, he didn't bother to close the drawer.

Ducking into Dudley's room, he took a jacket from the piggish boy's closet, too big for Harry but it had pockets inside the lining that the unpleasant Dudley boasted at shoplifting with. It suited Harry's purpose fine.

When Ian came looking for him again, Harry was in the restroom, settling his coat in the mirror. "Just a moment," he called, nervous. Police weren't the bad guys, he kept reminding himself. Regardless he didn't feel guilt at taking the knife. It was his fear. He'd not let another hold that against him, ever again.

-

* * *

-

Arabella Figg was in a state. Through the night, she'd been tending her cats, one birthing a litter of kittens of course when things would be going so far from right. By the time she'd noticed the noise and lights, the Dursleys were already being led from the home, hands in shackles and at the mercy of muggle police.

"Dumbledore!" she'd all but screamed into the fireplace, throwing far too much floo powder in and nearly singing her wall with the resulting wash of flame. "Emergency!"

Shortly she could see the man's face in the flames, looking to her curiously. "Arabella, what is the problem? It's quite late."

"Police! The Dursleys! Oh, I don't know-"

"I see," the Headmaster said quietly, looking contemplative. "Step back, Ms. Figg. I'm coming through."

Blinking, she did as the man asked and shortly the stately form of Dumbledore, sky blue robes and his grand beard were standing in her den. Taking out a small pocket watch, the aged wizard regarded it with an unreadable expression. "Strange. Most strange." Standing with the woman outside the home, but within the wards she had, the old man watched the proceedings with a critical eye. "Have you seen anything that would indicate why the muggle law enforcement would see the need to incarcerate the boy's family?"

Arabella shook her head furiously, but looked pensive. "They leave him in the care of a babysitter often, as they go out, taking their son, but no. I mean they're family, Dumbledore. What would they do?"

"Babysitter... interesting. And the young men? Dudley, I believe his name is, how do he and Harry fare?"

Shrugging, Ms. Figg watched as the said fat child was struggling against the hands of an officer, spitting curses that would make a sailor blush. "Ah, well children will be children... They quarrel and fight but are still-"

"I see," eyes narrowing, Dumbledore looked over the cars and watched as the Dursleys were taken away. "I think, for now Arabella you should go tend to your cats. I will speak with you again, if the need arises."

Sputtering a moment, the woman sighed and simply went back inside. Kneazle half-breeds wound around her feet as she sat and thought back to the boys and the family she'd watched for so many years. Children were cruel – this she knew. Being a squib born to magical parents taught her that. But still, she grew up well enough, despite the bullies. Wasn't that all Dudley was? A bully?

Disillusioned, Dumbledore walked down the street as the cars drove by, watching as the wards he'd worked meticulously to tie to the woman who was Lily's sister flickered and died. "They would hold till his seventeenth birthday, as long as one of his blood shared a home," he recalled wearily. Minerva would likely not let him hear the end of this, remembering the scathing speech she'd rattled his windows with after placing the boy with the muggles.

The question remained, what would cause this place to no longer be the boy's home?

-

* * *

-

Though to most people in the Station, Ian had little hints of a social life, the opposite could not be more true. Ian Grieve had a late wife and son, and lived still with his daughter, who was a year older than Harry. Alicia had been hit hard by the tragedy that left their family a ruin, turning inward in many ways. Gone was the bright blue eyes, the radiant smile.

His only daughter was a bright girl, and like most intelligent children, took too much onto herself without reason. Though Ian tried hard to make sure his only child knew the deaths of her mother and brother had nothing to do with her, guilt was a stubborn stain to wash clean.

Harry returned to Ian's office, and saw the officer holding a picture up, staring at it with a distant sort of fascination. Not wanting to disturb the man, but curious, he walked quietly behind Ian and peered at it as well.

Framed in a simple but well polished silver casement, the photo could not have been more than a few years old. There, Ian stood in his uniform, less decorated but trim as it was now. Beside him was a pretty woman, smiling quietly with her hand across a small girl's shoulder, who could have been her very young sister. Both were dark of hair, long and straight, with blue eyes that shone clearly, despite the camera's distance. Before Ian was a young man, maybe older than the girl, who shared his features. Dark eyes, blonde hair, the youth looked prone to brooding, but carried a smile regardless.

"Rather quiet when you feel the need, aren't you, Harry?" The words shocked the young boy, and he nearly fell back but for the hand on his shoulder. "Easy. Easy. They're a pretty lot, aren't they?" Gesturing to the woman and his children, Ian smiled sadly.

"Yes sir," agreeing more automatically than anything, Harry calmed his thumping heart and tried to remember this man wasn't the enemy. He wasn't one of those others. Not like Vernon.

Taking a long breath, Ian let it loose and breathed out his tension, sadness and memories with it. "Have a seat, Harry. There's some things I want to talk to you about."

Looking behind him, Harry took in the large chair Ian indicated, and hopped up, letting his feet dangle over the edge. "Am I in trouble sir?"

"What?" Laughing a moment, Ian shook his head and smiled, noting the tension leaving Harry as he did so. "No, not at all. People don't just want to talk to you, because something's wrong, Harry. Sometimes, they want to tell you that something's right."

Blinking, Harry simply nodded, absorbing this bit of information. Though he assumed such to be true, thinking on it, the evidence of it was... scarce.

"Anyway... I wanted to speak to you about some people, who will be asking you some questions soon. Now," gesturing to the photo again, Ian's smile turned a little sad. "I know your family wasn't very kind. In fact I would like very much to speak with them, but I'm not allowed. Regardless of that, these people will ask you some things, and I want you to be as helpful and honest as you can."

Harry thought about this and had to admit, so far nothing Officer Grieve had done had been bad. Not to him. These other people made him nervous, but he was fast learning that this man's words could be trusted. So far. He was about to voice his agreement, when Ian leaned across the desk, a very intense look in his eyes.

"Now, that said... honesty is something some people can't really see for what it is. Do you understand?" When Harry shook his head, eyes going wide, Ian nodded and leaned back, peaking his fingers and looking to the office door briefly. "Let me explain.

"Say, for instance... I know that many things a man across the hall had done were very bad. But, I had no proof, other than what I was sure of. Now, this is the important part Harry... always be sure." Pausing, Ian looked pained a moment, but seemed to work over whatever dark thoughts were upon him. "Now, say I have one bad thing, that could be proven very mild... or very severe. What would be the right thing to do?"

Biting his lip, Harry considered the quandary for a long time. He guessed that Ian was making an analogy to his own life, but why? Putting the man in context of Vernon, Harry's eyes narrowed. "I... the right thing, if I was sure, would be to prove the worst things."

"Good!" Smiling widely, Ian laughed quietly, reaching up to run a hand through his graying ash-colored hair. "Not always is that right. Not always can we see crime so easily. Do you understand Harry? Being sure isn't easy. It takes time. But when you are, you need to act."

Confused by the direction all this was going, Harry's face betrayed those emotions. "Why?"

Favoring the small child, so deep in his own world of hurt that Ian couldn't help but feel a kinship, the officer smiled warmly. "Harry, sometimes the good guys can't do what's right, because to stay good guys, they have to do what people think they should."

Nodding, brows knit in concentration, Harry agreed.

"Now, sometimes, not always, but sometimes bad people can't be punished, because the good guys simply can't do it and stay good guys. Do you understand?"

"Is this why the Captain won't let you see Vernon?"

Smiling, Ian nodded again. "Exactly. He's making sure I stay the good guy, by not doing something bad, to the bad guys."

"But why?"

"Because when the good guys start doing bad things, no matter why, people stop thinking of them as being right," Ian replied sadly. Harry seemed to cotton on, and nodded firmly.

Looking back up to Ian, his green eyes carried something the officer hadn't seen before. They had an intensity, a spark. "So, sometimes we have to make sure the right thing gets done, even if the good guys can't."

Nodding, Ian sighed and relaxed into the chair he sat in. "Sometimes. But you, you don't have to worry about this right now." Taking up a file, he opened it up to a page with Harry's medical history. "For now, lets look at the past, and think of how to make what some people will see as many distant bad things, as a bit more important."

Harry stood and crossed to the desk, standing beside Ian much to the man's surprise. Not that the officer hadn't expected the young boy to be adverse to seeing his own justice done, but more that the intensity in those green eyes flared all the brighter, at his words.

-

* * *

-

That night that Ian picked him up, at the hands of Piers Polkiss, Dennis, Malcom and Dudley, Harry had received possibly the second worse beating of his life, at least that week. At least, that's what the counseling team from Child Services heard, from what appeared to be their worst case of the year.

Initial notes, just on the boy's state of being were dreadful, but after the accounts given, tour of the home in question, forensic evidence and testimony taken from neighbors and the boys involved, the team had other ideas.

Though many had seen child neglect and abuse cases in the past, this was far and above unreasonable. Traces of skin and blood were found under Dudley's nails, taken at the Station, and also on one other of the young men. When questioned in depth, Harry admitted his uncle was 'a very angry, sometimes violent' man who only hit him 'a few times a week, unless he was ungrateful'.

At this point officers were required to stand watch over the family, as they stewed in their cells. One inquisitor had managed to get herself into the holding area and was found verbally dressing down the purpling and furious Vernon, riling the man to the point of sputtering incoherence.

Evidence further damning was the preposterous lies told by the entire deviant family about the young boy. There was no wonder at the ostracism he'd received at the hands of school, peers and community. A righting of attitudes was shortly done by the team, as pictures of Harry's injuries and the cupboard itself were circulated.

People have an odd way of dealing with guilt, those on the Child Services team knew. Once those they'd spoken to learned Harry's case, most were direly regretful of their treatment of the boy. So much so, that many were very forthcoming with new or supporting information, to their investigation.

Perhaps in retrospect, many would see the trials as a modern day witch-hunt, but few could be deemed as truly sympathetic to such abusive, violent and neglectful behaviors. Through Dudley's staggering stupidity in suggesting a 'Harry-hunt' during the afternoon during patrol hours, the family was left a ruin.

Vernon's position disappeared overnight, as did any of his financial sponsors, on his bank loans and mortgages. Any debts he had due, were in the process of being called in against his home and properties.

Petunia was in a similar state, having little else to call on other than her husband's due. Both adults were sentenced to three years and probation after, but the sentence was increased to including mental care, once the two started spouting off some nonsense about magic. That they'd repeatedly referred to Harry as a freak in the courtroom as well as during inquiry did nothing to soften the jury's or their prosecution's anger.

Dudley was remanded to the Juvenile Care center, where he would take up residence with the other problem children, one other joining him being Piers. Though the CS team could not find definitive evidence about the other two children involved, Piers and Dudley were conclusively shown to have very unhealthy violent tendencies, and these needed to be addressed. Though not as pleasant as an orphanage, the Juvenile Care facilities were far superior to the treatment Harry had received, which he was reminded forcefully.

Only once was there an inquiry about the cases, by an older gentleman going by the name Albert Du'moir, apparently a distant associate of the family. Unbelievably old looking, yet spry and with a good attitude and personality people recalled, he was given the polite version, and a generic printout that many presses had received while wanting the data for their printings. Growing grim and mumbling on mistakes, the man wasn't seen to return to the Station till long after the hearings.

-

* * *

-

It had been three months, and while not everything Ian wanted was accomplished, at least for young Harry, most was passable. Once the Dursleys had lost whatever custody they had – it was a common-law situation apparently, as no recorded will for his mother Lily Potter was available, Child Services started the process for placing Harry into an orphanage.

Ian immediately stepped in. Though he had a daughter, the man was well off, with enough money to last him through his age thanks sadly to his wife's passing and his own family's fortune. Not much, it would last the children out into their education, luck holding. He also had the services of a maid, who was a live-in since his wife's death.

Most of their objections satisfied, the panel had one sticky moment, that being the closeness of the man, in a professional sense to the boy. When they'd asked the Captain about this, the older man took off his hat and stared at the panel as if they'd told him the world was flat. "Are you daft. Listen, if the man shares an emotional bond to the child already, what are you complaining of? It's obvious he cares, or he'd not go to the lengths he did to see justice done."

"We have worries he was simply replacing his feelings, for his dead son Aaron onto Harry, Mr. Brian. That is all." A prim woman on the panel corrected him, and to her confusion, the Captain nodded.

"Such a thing I warned him of too." Wearily, the old gentleman smiled at the panel, "but Ian is not a stupid man. He knows Harry is not, nor can ever be Aaron. If anything, he feels responsible for the boy's fate, and has already taken a hand in showing responsibility for his sake."

A younger man, in a rather silly blue suit was the next to ask him a question, "Do you think it wise that your officers be so connected to their cases? That kind of responsibility isn't very professional."

"Young man," Captain Brian chided, shaking his head. "If we don't show some responsibility, some compassion for the people we serve and protect, then why not hire mercenaries?" Standing, the man replaced his hat and regarded the panel with a slight frown. "If you want impersonal, _professional_ protection, hire mercenaries who only care for money. If you want people guarding your children from abuse and neglect, or looking after the same neighborhoods they live in as well, then my force is what you have."

And older woman shot her colleague a withering look, while standing as well. "Captain Brian, please. Have a seat, we didn't mean to offend you.

"I have here the statement you submitted for Ian Grieve in regard to his intent to adopt Harry Potter," the woman went on placatingly, after the aged officer sat again. "Do you still endorse him? Understand this question is only a formality, with the form, to assure it an accurate document."

"I do, with highest regard," was the Captain's firm reply.

"Very well then. The panel will deliberate over the next hour. Thank you, Captain Brian."

"It was my pleasure."

By the end of the day, Harry had a new home.

-

* * *

-

Harry and Alicia were not, Ian admitted, a good match. Melody, the maid he had hired on to help with his daughter and the home, was adamant that the young man would rankle the young miss.

It seemed to be the understatement of the year. Alicia's sometimes explosive temper was something Harry was utterly unphased by. This only served to enrage the girl further.

Ian made it a point to sit with the girl, after Harry had been settled into his own rooms in the house after having Alicia's temper explained to him. Though Harry seemed to be very understanding, there was a shadow of wariness there.

Ian was in no mood to deal with another of his daughter's tantrums that night, but reminded himself of her own pains. "Young miss, sit down and we'll have a chat."

"If this is about Harry, we have nothing to say."

Raising a brow at her openly hostile tone, Ian merely pointed at a chair and narrowed his eyes. Alicia sat with a huff. "That's alright then, because I don't need you to speak, I need you to listen. So this works out fine," seeing her earlier words turned around, the young girl made to retort, but Ian clapped his hands loudly once, startling her. "Be still. We've all heard enough of your voice tonight, and it's become tiresome. Now, you can listen some.

"You aren't ignorant of Harry's past," he continued quietly, staring intently into his daughter's eyes. Though she was bright, and before her mother's death, a cheerful and rather joyous little girl, Alicia had become bitter and brittle since that day. Harry's introduction into their home was going to cause issues, he knew, and this was the one he'd expected. But he had a plan, for how to handle it. "Nor is he of yours. You may think I'm replacing Aaron, or-"

"Think? You are! And I'm not going to be a-" she was cut off as Ian sighed and stood, moving toward the door. "I won't..." when the door closed after him, she blinked and looked at it, not understanding.

Picking up her diary, she began to write. Though her script was slow, it was something her mother had given her, and she was determined to use it. Each night, after writing just a bit in the pages, be it important or trivial, she sealed the book back in her dresser and slept a bit easier.

_Mom,_

_Dad's being a prat. I can't think of how else to say it. Do you know what he's done? Some boy, someone else's boy is staying with us. I don't care why, mom. He's not Aaron. He's not Aaron..._

Sniffling, Alicia closed the book unable to write more because of her own tears. Settling it on her nightstand, she curled up and slept, after her crying ran its course.

Though they didn't necessarily get along, the two had an uneasy truce for the most part. Harry was timid, quiet and wary, the kind of person who only caused problems on accident, while Alicia was driven, angry and reckless, which made it so she was constantly in trouble. Some would see this as being a set up for disaster, but as Alicia avoided Harry for the most part, there was little overlap.

Ian was beginning to lament his daughter and adopted son's relationship ever improving, until the first day of their return to school. Though Ian had cautioned against it, Alicia had insisted she take her mother's gift, the diary, with her. It was her security blanket, and coping mechanism in many ways. Which was why Ian almost demanded she not take it, till Harry looked at him intently, and shook his head. Not one to be cowed by a child often, the officer spared her one more look and a sigh, before relenting.

It was the break period at lunch that ended up being the defining moment in their relationship as siblings. Harry was quietly reading, something he did almost fanatically since his adoption by Ian. Over on a bench by the edge of the schoolyard green, he sat with his backpack and piles of books, oblivious to the world around him.

Alicia was sitting with her small circle of friends, when the school's inevitable clique of troublemakers made their appearance. Though the rumors around Harry had mostly been quelled, he wasn't the target today.

A rather pretty but unpleasant girl by the name Sonya Jennings crept up behind Alicia, with her little gang hanging back. Just as one of Alicia's friend's eyes widened with surprise at seeing the blonde suddenly appear behind the dark-haired girl, that same blonde snatched away her mother's diary from Alicia's hands.

Spinning around in shock, Alicia fretted when seeing the precious book, her most personal connection left to her mother, being tossed to one of the prissy little Jennings girl's friends. "Stop, hey give it back!"

The schoolyard, like most, had it's own laws. Children aren't by nature some of the world's most gracious, kind and forgiving creatures, and so seeing the normally withdrawn and isolated Alicia call out for help and start running after a book, most simply gawked or observed with interest.

Not all.

Though Sonya maintained that she was the most beautiful of the girls in the school – at least to her grade, she didn't make it a habit of keeping other pretty young women as friends. This, she explained, was simply fate. There was only so much beauty in the world, and with most in her possession, how could they be beautiful as well?

Harry had earned her glare once for laughing loudly at a similar discussion that morning, but when she'd turned to bite off a sharp retort at the boy who'd insulted her, she stopped on seeing him.

Though the rumors, to most people were forgotten, she remembered them well enough. Sneering, she turned to Harry, "And why are you here? I thought they kept the _simple_ children locked away?"

He'd turned those eyes on her, and she couldn't keep from drawing back from the fright and surprise at the clarity and intensity she'd seen there. "Not all apparently," he'd replied quietly, holding her gaze easily. "Some they seem to let out, to boast and play at being princesses." The morning class had broken into laughter there, and the pink of her dress was only matched by the flush of anger on her cheeks.

He was lucky there was a teacher walking by, or she would have scratched those eyes out of his head.

Harry saw the same girl, as she sneaked up behind his adoptive sister. He wanted to yell a warning, to do something but Ian had made it a point in their talks that he be sure before he acted. This was one of those nights he was going to have a talk about when to be sure, and when to prevent, Harry grumbled to himself.

As Ian had predicted, now Alicia's diary was in danger, and the dark-haired girl was running after it, missing the foot that was placed in her way. Falling hard on her wrist, she moaned and rolled over onto her back, hand cradling a fast-purpling sprain or worse.

The pudgy girl who'd caught the book laughed, then tossed it back toward Sonya. Halfway there, Harry plucked it out of the air, coming to an unsteady stop by Alicia from his jump.

"You again, didn't someone ever tell you to mind your business, boy?" Sonya's irritation made her voice clipped and hostile, but Harry was more concerned with his sister.

Laying the book on her stomach, he stood over her and stared back at the blonde, whom he'd begun more and more to think of as a shrunken, bleached Dudley. Something clicked in him, at the word 'boy', though. Something black and unpleasant.

Harry found he wanted to hurt the little girl, striding angrily toward him. Straightening he glared back and to Sonya's surprise, smiled. "Or?"

"Or?" Uncomprehending, the young girl looked to her friends, whom shrugged at her in confusion. Sonya shook off her own irritation at the boy, and shot back, "Or what?"

"No threats?" He questioned her, laughing, Harry smiled wider at Sonya, stalling her advance. "Come on. Aren't you just a silly little bully? Threaten me. Or my sister. Lets see if you're as ugly on the inside as out."

The mob that had been previously watching the girls mock Alicia and toss the book around, laughing now and then with them now roared with amusement at Sonya's expense. Her mouth worked silently as her face screwed up in anger, embarrassment and confusion. Wasn't she the one they should be laughing with, not at? Why did they turn on her so easy? Looking about her in disbelief, the prissy little girl glared at Harry one last time before bolting off the schoolyard.

Boggling at Sonya's retreat, Harry sunk down by Alicia and helped her to sit up. When the girl didn't push him away like usual when he tried to help, the young boy looked at her in confusion.

"You made an enemy there," she commented idly, not looking up. In her hand was the diary, while the bruised wrist of the other lay ignored in her lap.

Shaking his head, Harry just sighed and picked the leaves out of her hair. When she looked at him and blinked, he just shrugged, continuing with what he was doing. "Life doesn't begin or end in school. She's just a mean spirited little girl."

Alicia bit back the immediate question on who he was insulting, realizing her own guilt was guiding her. Looking away, she nodded and hugged the diary to her closer. "This... doesn't change anything. You're still not my brother," she whispered softly, but her tone didn't have the edge it normally did, when speaking with him.

Leaning down, so he could see her pale eyes, Harry grinned. "No, I'm not. I'm Harry. But," he amended, standing uncertainly and favoring a foot, "you're still my sister."

Watching him wobble where he stood, Alicia's brow knit. "What happened to your foot?"

"Landed on it wrong," he replied easily, hobbling back to collect his books. Alicia followed shortly, standing with difficulty as well as her had no intention of using her bad wrist, or putting her mother's diary down to use the other hand. As Harry gathered his books into the satchel, she noted how he didn't whimper, or complain about the injury. His face didn't even register that it hurt. Thoughtful, she continued to follow him, throughout the rest of the day.

When they'd arrived home, Ian greeted them, having taken the day off early to see what mischief his two children had managed.

"Afternoon sir," Harry greeted simply, doing well to mask his limp. Without another word, he crossed to the den and sat his books down, taking one of his school texts out to read.

While he was trying to puzzle out Harry's odd gait, he heard his daughter coming into the house as well. Alicia stared after the young man, and Ian had expected the worst. Surprised, she only shook her head and smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek and trotting to the kitchen to... of all things join Harry at the table.

Only then did he notice the girl's wrist in a bandage, wrapped from before her thumb to up her forearm slightly.

Crossing to the den and the table there, Ian pulled out a chair and sat, regarding his children with a patient smile. After five minutes, the smile had broken somewhat, and he sighed. "Alicia, Harry, care to tell me how your days went?"

Looking to one another a moment, Ian could practically see the silent communication between them. When they both looked at him in unison, and said, "It went well, sir." he groaned.

Eventually he managed to get the full day out of them, by holding dessert hostage. Though Ian wasn't happy with Harry's goading at the bully Sonya, he also heard the hints of what Harry was doing.

Waiting. Being sure. Alicia didn't understand, but wasn't going to be cross about it, which reassured him that the two would be fine, given time. Remembering back to that morning, Ian had a sudden start. He only just remembered Harry's warning against arguing too much against Alicia taking her diary.

Looking up at the young boy, the two looked to one another. Harry stared back evenly, openly. His eyes only held mild interest and attention, Ian saw. He'd been in the force a long time, and though he wasn't and had no pretense at being psychic, he could read people. Guile and cunning were easy to read in one's eyes. Harry's eyes though, had neither. So assured, Ian wrote off the morning's coincidence to Harry's kind nature, and simply wanting Alicia to have something comfortable with her.

Smiling ruefully, Ian sent his two children to bed, happy that they'd managed to at least set aside whatever boundaries they could, that day. There were more, that he knew. Alicia's breaking down of her wall of hostility and Harry's act of kindness wouldn't change their relationship overnight. But it did an old man good to know they weren't fighting.

That night Harry sat awake, looking up at his ceiling. Though he had a good day, and made ground with being accepted by Alicia, something wouldn't let him rest. He tried to sort his thoughts, but they slipped from him too easily. Every time he thought something made sense, something that could or would be so distracting to keep him awake, the image or idea fled. Eventually, weariness swept over him, and in dream he understood.

Sonya's blue eyes, cruel and full of hate, looked back at him. Again, he was filled with that urge to hurt, to see her suffer like she'd tried to make Alicia suffer. It didn't matter to Harry that the girl he considered sister didn't really treat him as such – to him was principal. He knew why she was hostile and distant. Unlike Sonya, unlike Dudley and all the Sonyas and Dudleys and Vernons of the world, she had a reason. He accepted it.

Grasping on to that seed of idea, that desire to balance things, Harry slept finally, mind clean of dreams.

-

* * *

-

A/N: I couldn't think of three words that began with "H" to use as a title, that didn't come together like utter garbage.

For those of you who have to know, pairing.. possibly Susan Bones. It would add a nice symmetry.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Kindly Ones**_

**Chapter Two**

_All men whilst they are awake are in one common world: but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own._  
~Plutarch

It wasn't something he'd have thought plausible, at such a young age, but Harry looked back fondly on the vacation taken on his sixth year and the events that lead up to it as the turning point in his life. Well, one of them. Eleven was a big step too, he admitted with a wry grin. Standing unsteadily, he rubbed at that same shoulder, where the snake had bit him so long ago. He knew there were two tiny scars there, barely noticeable unless you looked hard. Currently he was more concerned with the state of the rest of his arm.

A few small spells and the break was mended, but the pain was still there. He'd not numbed the limb on purpose. The pain focused him. Kept him 'here' as opposed to elsewhere. He'd drifted off in memory and missed the bulk of the show, which irked him mildly.

There was a time that such would have ruined the moment. Not now, though. He'd been glutting on kills this week, and getting nostalgic here or there wouldn't cost him sleep. Still, it was stupid to get sloppy. Sloppy killers didn't get to play at their hobby long.

Turning back to the woman on the table, Harry stowed the wand he'd used to mend himself and retrieved the knife, taken so long ago from Vernon's home. Did he have them to thank for what he'd become? Certainly Ian had not raised a monster, he pondered idly as he wrenched the blade free from the woman's throat.

Ian... Harry fondly remembered his adopted father. The kind man was the only reason he'd managed to get by, when he was young. Likely had he remained at the Dursleys, he'd be dead by now. Or worse. Through Ian, Harry had learned what real people were like, not just the circle of people biased and misinformed by his aunt and uncle. He'd gained a sister that he was closer to than any other human being, instead of a brutish cousin that was little more than a human garbage disposal. He'd had a man that knew just what he'd started to become, to teach him how not to be just a headless, wanton beast, but a predator. Focused. Careful. Sure.

Ah those were good days. Shaking himself from his reverie, Harry surveyed the mess he'd made. Nearly four liters of blood made quite a pool, and though the woman who'd tried to escape him put up a valiant fight, the result was the same as the others he'd found.

Before he'd discovered Death Eaters, his work had been so much harder. Now, it was like his prey simply put out advertisements in the local paper.

"Single white fanatic, seeks young, successful sociopath for dinner, dancing and maybe a little death," he quipped, smirking at the imagery that brought to mind. Considering the common sense and intelligence he'd seen so far, such a thing might not have been so far fetched. "Maybe I will take out an ad," he mused.

Though he didn't have nearly the difficulty disposing of his messes now, it still took time to methodically clean the room he'd used for the trap. It was another part of the ritual. Part of the moment. Preparation, careful and precise made it all the more satisfying. Plastic was rolled up, blood soaked up by catbox litter and vacuumed with a handy, dandy little dustbuster. No point casting spells when he'd been so used to doing things the mundane way. Besides, that dimmed the _moment_. Besides, he like the dustbuster. It was a gift from Alicia. Finishing his task, Harry packed up the Death Eater – Lisa Rosier, who wasn't a large woman, and so packed up nicely. Hefty bags were another of his favorite modern inventions. Wizards had _Evanesco_, he had Hefty. He could have both, but where was the fun in that? Magic was such a shortcut. It took the visceral joy out of things, having them done like... well, magic.

Now, unlike some others with his inclination, Harry had no real desire to do anything more than kill his targets. Slowly, perhaps, but it never entered his mind to use them for anything more. Oh he took his trophy, but that was a given. Transportation and doing so in a way as to not look like you were carting around a cadaver were harder issues. The simple answer was usually the best; another small but important life lesson Ian had taught him. Dismemberment. Well, Ian hadn't taught him that, but the spirit of it all was the same.

Peaceful sleep depended on a peaceful mind. Knowing that every kill, every victim he'd claimed so far had their own little permanent place with him, ensured that. He'd considered changing that little part of his ritual, as his list of kills became almost exclusively Death Eaters as time went on, but no.

_Blood_. It was the start of his evolution into this thing he was. Nothing so cliché as a vampire fetish – he knew one or two, rather decent folk really – it was simply the crux point of his hobby. Watching his kills bleed out their life, much like that deer so long ago, stilled the noise in his head, and gave him much sought-after peace. It took him a long time to piece together the various parts of his particular urge, it wasn't until after his first full year at Hogwarts that the pieces started coming together in fact. Harry had Voldemort and his various plots to thank for finally making the puzzle clear. If he ever met Tom Riddle, which according to some was a certainty, he'd shake his hand. Well, before he gutted him like a fish. Hey, Tom made it personal first.

Slipping the small glass slide into it's case, he looked into the large, covered windows. Outside the night had come and beyond the boards and tarps that kept the room dark other than a single lamp, the night was invisible. Alone, with his image looking back at him, Harry smiled.

Another night of pleasant dreams was waiting. But first, to deal with Lisa. Or all the various parts of Lisa.

He'd parked the car, another one of Ian's boons, outside and behind the building. It wasn't big, wasn't expensive, but it got him around in muggle London well enough, and it wasn't like he could just fly into Alicia's yard on a broom without causing a stir. Not that she was ignorant of his special skills.

Checking his phone, Harry noted a missed call from sister dearest. The last of Lisa was well stowed for the time being in the trunk, waiting for the next step. Tools and unused materials packed, Harry started the car and pulled into the lane, as Alicia picked up.

"Harry, where are you?" Alicia was angry. Trying to figure out what he'd forgotten, Harry groaned. So caught up with the hunt, the information he'd collected and used to be sure of the late Lisa's lamentable and less than lustrous livelihood, Harry had forgotten his own birthday. Should have been paying attention to his memories, he groused, narrowly avoiding another driver who seemed to think stop signs were mere suggestions.

Bracing himself, he prepared for the worst, "Oh, right. Got um... tied up cleaning up after someone. Is there still cake?"

Grumbling he could tell she was kicking something, by the sound of the repeated sounds over the phone, "It's your bloody birthday! You're late! Get here in fifteen minutes or you won't see another one!" The line went dead and he stared at the cell, wondering if it was worth tempting fate.

Turning the car around, he figured Lisa would forgive him, if it involved cake. It wasn't like she was going anywhere, after all. Another year down, he mused as his hands took up the proper positions on the wheel. What a long, strange voyage this has been...

His reminiscing and the reminder of his birthday again pulled familiar memories to the front of his mind. Like Ian's gambit to keep a scrawny, abused boy safe, this was yet another landmark in the Map of Harry.

-

* * *

_-_

_Mom,_

_It's odd being in school with Harry. OK that makes no sense. Aaron was kind and gentle, and I knew he'd watch over me. Knowing that made me brave, too. Harry's... different. We watch out for each other. I mean he's nice enough... I guess it's just that when you're with him at home and here, you see things._

_Dad talked to me about him a while ago. How bad things happened to Harry, how it makes people different. I think... the bad things that happened to Aaron happened to him too. I wish I could have helped Aaron. Harry worries me sometimes, though. He's very quiet and polite with me, and dad. More with dad. He's not mean to me it's just... something feels wrong._

_At school today, my friend's brother Edgar got in a fight with someone. She was talking about it at lunch and it sounded horrible. People older than him being so mean. Later Harry showed up at class late. There was an announcement that classes would end early because someone had been hurt. Later Edgar was telling us how it was cool that the person who started that fight fell on some steps and hurt themselves really bad._

_I like Harry. He's nice to us. But sometimes he scares me._

-

* * *

-

Sleep.

There as a time when Harry had no interest in sleep, because of his nightmares. He'd found it strange that, for all the time with the Dursleys, he'd never really had such horrible dreams. Maybe it was his mind's way of seeking some balance as well. So long in a living nightmare, now he had a peaceful life so his dreams were haunted. Not that he could remember them, he lamented, having barely slept in a week. "Funny," he thought as he dragged himself down to the table to meet his sister for breakfast, "I really miss nightmares right now."

Alicia looked no better than he felt. Listless and dull-eyed, she poked at the cereal in her bowl without much interest. Taking down his own cereal, the young boy had a few moments of peace in thinking that maybe, just maybe they'd have a break from the noise that was keeping them up all hours over the weekend.

Harry had no sooner started hoping, when the baying of a dog nearby startled him. With a clatter of her bowl tipping over, Alicia groaned and quickly shuffled back from the table, trying to avoid the milk and sodden cereal that her own distressed jump had spilled. "What is wrong with that dog," she muttered, staring at the milk as it dripped to the floor. Obviously she didn't have the energy to do much else.

Not that he was much better. All interest in food left him, the moment the soulful baying picked up again. Dropping his hands, the doors to the cabinet slammed shut and he laid his head down on the counter. "This can't go on. We have school tomorrow." Glancing out the window, Harry tried to imagine a day, pretty as today but silent. His mind, so fogged with weariness and irritation, refused to comply. Groaning he banged his head on the counter as the dog's tempo picked up.

"Now, none of that. Those counters are expensive to replace," Ian chided. Walking into the room just as the two seemed to be unraveling, He was immediately swamped by questions, most to do with the dog next door and if he'd ever shut up.

Ian looked out the window and seemed to frown. "I'll to talk with the owner. It has been a while since he was quiet," he replied.

Harry sat at the table as Ian left, helping Alicia clean up the mess her breakfast had become. It was a tense kind of silence between them, and Harry had been confused most of that week on what it was that he'd done, to annoy the girl. Plans to see if they could do something fun fizzled as the dog next door hadn't been quiet in what seemed like ages, setting both of them on edge and ruining what good mood he'd tried to foster.

With a bang, the back door opened and Ian stood there, breathing heavy and looking angrier than either of the children could remember. Before Alicia or Harry could ask what was wrong, he'd pointed toward the foyer, "To your rooms. Make sure your homework is done," Ian barked.

Both of them scampered off quickly so as to not anger him further.

As he closed the door behind him, Harry wondered what had made Ian so upset. In the few months he'd spent with the Greive's, despite the fighting and quarreling he and Alicia did, Ian took it all with a smile. They didn't get along badly, really – it was just that the two of them weren't used to each other. Still, the man had never reacted like this. In fact, the last time Harry had seen Ian this livid, was when they'd met. Harry recalled it easily enough, as that day was still one of the most important memories he had.

It was before the Child Services group had asked him questions. The day Ian had talked to him about what to say, and how to make sure the Dursleys paid for what they did. Harry looked to his calendar, sitting on the desk by his school books and the ones he'd picked up from the library to read.

Counting days off in his mind, he went to the bookshelf he kept by the desk and pulled out one of his favorite science fiction novels.

-

* * *

-

Two more days of no sleep for the Grieve children, and the inevitable happened. Tuesday afternoon at the dining room table, the family minus Ian had gathered for their evening meal. Weary and short tempered, Melody had agreed with Ian that it best the children not be left alone while he had a late shift at work. She had been with the family intermittently before Mrs. Grieve's death, and after had been invited to the family's home as a permanent fixture. Not having any family herself, the woman looked at the offer as a pay raise and a discount in living expenses.

After the change in personality in Alicia from the tragic loss of her older brother and mother, Melody had wondered if the better pay and accommodations worth it. Looking back, she had to admit that compared to other children her age, Alicia wasn't bad. Could certainly be worse in fact. It wasn't as if the girl were unkind or mean-spirited, more that she had no patience, and a short fuse to accompany it.

Melody wasn't hired on to be a babysitter and governess, though. She was good with children – to a point. Tonight she was seeing that limit sorely tested. "Young Miss, I demand you put that loaf of bread down this instant!"

"Make him stop first!" Alicia spat, glaring daggers at Harry as he flicked another pea into the girl's soup. Going wide eyed in exasperation, Alicia looked back to Melody, who was glaring between the two, obviously torn.

Alicia she was used to dealing with. Her moods were short, violent but usually harmless. Much like a firecracker. Harry on the other hand was a brooding youth, who's calm exterior rarely cracked. When it had on few occasions, Melody was glad that Ian had handled things. Something about the young man's intensity made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Much like tonight. Though his green eyes were downcast and hooded under half closed eyes, Melody could tell there was a fire there. He was just a child, she reminded herself, but despite his age, she still paused to do much to discipline the boy. Scolding herself for being intimidated by a mere child, she sighed and slapped at the table, getting him to look up. "Young Master, if you persist in antagonizing your sister you will be sent to bed without finishing your meal."

Sputtering, Alicia tossed the loaf of bread she'd been brandishing and swatting Harry's peas away with across the table, upsetting the basket that had borne it. "That's all?" Glaring across the placings now littered with bits of food and breadcrumbs, she pushed back into her chair with a huff. "Some punishment. Not like he's eating anyway."

Harry's lip quirked slightly. With a careful snap of his fork he sent one of the morsels of their stew to sail and land squarely on the girl's face. Screaming angrily, Alicia snatched up the water by her place and flung it across the table.

"Children!" Melody screeched, slamming her palms flat down on the table with an awful noise. "To your rooms. Both of you. Now!"

Looking fit to reach across the table and toss the young boy's soup into his lap, Alicia stalled when Harry's mood changed completely and he quietly rose, nodded to them both and trotted silently back to his room. Blinking after, she was snapped out of her staring when the maid's napkin swatted her behind. "Off with you!"

Glaring at the small woman, Alicia broke off a chunk of bread and ran to her room before the woman could comment. Irritated at Melody and her father for being late tonight, complicated by the damned dog barking and howling at all hours, she was too ill-tempered to hold her anger very long.

Barely an hour after being sent to her room, she'd curled up in her clothes on top of her bed, and was fitfully sleeping. Exhaustion was telling on her more than anger, at least that night.

Busy with tidying up the dining room and still irritated at caring for ill-manner children, Melody didn't notice that Harry's bedroom door never closed.

-

* * *

-

Melody's phone call came during a lull in the Station's night, only truly busy thanks to a football game that was going on that night. Though the local team was a favorite, and had the odds to win, tensions and tempers were still high. The English after all took their sports very seriously. Not an avid fan himself, Ian only paid the other officers and their heckling to one another very mild attention, working more on the afternoon's paperwork. Though most of the arrests had been public drunkenness and general nuisance charges, the volume of them had the offices swamped with forms.

Well into the night, he finally manged to return to his favorite battle zone, his own home. He'd apologized to the irate woman, and promised to speak to the children the next day, as he expected to be at work till nearly midnight. It was for that reason that Ian was surprised to see a very small shadow slipping back into the rear of the house, as he pulled in. Remembering that Melody had sent the children to bed early, Ian checked his pistol and the snap that held it in place. Unsure what he'd find, he crept about the house, well after all those present should be asleep.

No lights were on, other than the foyer itself, which gave enough illumination that any open room could be navigated easily without it's own lighting, but for dark corners and bends in the hall. The kitchens were to the rear of the home, and quietly the officer slipped through the den, making little noise.

Lights still off, the kitchens weren't one of those rooms that were lit by the foyer's light. Peering about the corner, Ian saw nothing out of the ordinary, but wouldn't be satisfied till he was sure. Settling low on the balls of his feet, he half-crawled speedily to the switches, on the near wall. Throwing on the lights, he stood and surveyed the room quickly, ready to duck back down at any sign of wrongness.

Nothing was out of place. Brow knit in irritation, the man crossed to the back door, checking it. Rattling the handle, it was still locked. Thinking perhaps he had been seeing things, the man turned to go take a shower and forget the whole thing, but stopped with a chill as something caught the edge of his vision. Snapping his head around he just caught the faint impression of something by a window, rapidly moving up out of sight. Knowing his house intimately, the man set off for Harry's room at a run.

Discarding all sense of subtlety, Ian took the stairs two at a time, and came to the young boy's door in barely a handful of moments. Throwing the door open he was met with a surprised Harry, blinking at him blearily from his bed.

"Harry," the man began, trying to formulate the rest of his thoughts. "Have... have you been asleep long?" When the young man shook his head in a negative, Ian sighed and looked about the room.

Windows shut and shuttered, curtains drawn. The bed's covers were barely mussed but Harry himself seemed anything but tired, considering the hour. That struck Ian as odd, considering the state they'd all been in since that dog...

Blinking, Ian realized what had seemed wrong this entire night, that was itching at his awareness. Or rather, the lack that was so unusual. Making sure, the man listened carefully... but no. Nothing. The dog was silent.

Crossing slowly to the windows, Ian made a note to not look at Harry too intently. For all he knew, the dog could have finally went to sleep itself. It's barking had grown hoarse and weaker, regardless of continuing unabated. Checking the windows, Ian smiled slightly. Making a show of pulling the curtains down tighter, the man looked back to Harry and schooled his expression. "Anything strange going on tonight, Harry?"

Again, the boy shook his head. Crossing to his bed, Ian patted the space by Harry, and the young child scooted over, giving Ian room to sit. "I hear you and your sister had a fight at dinner."

"Yes sir. I plan to apologize in the morning."

Nodding, Ian kept his expression neutral. He was glad sometimes for Harry's patience, with his daughter. Had both of them been as short-tempered, likely the house wouldn't be standing. Still, Ian had to remember that something was still very wrong here. He was happy the boy was taking it upon himself to see responsibility, but there was still the matter of what Ian though he saw. Nodding, the man reached out and ruffled Harry's hair. His hand was slightly damp when it returned. Ah, for London's foggy nights. Looking down, Ian could see the damp soaking into the blankets, likely from Harry's shoes which were never taken off, in his rush. "Care to tell me what you did?"

Swallowing, Harry bit his lip and looked away. After a few ragged, unsettled breaths, he started talking, in a rush. "She's been so tired. And it never stops. We get home, and it's always barking, barking. At night too! We can't sleep, can't relax, can't even read. Ally just sits in her room staring at the wall and she can't even stay awake in classes now. Our teachers are glaring at us for nodding off and we've taken to pinching one another to stay awake," taking a few quick breaths, Harry closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "It had to stop."

More than a little shocked at the direction Harry's tirade had taken, Ian was wary at the desperation he'd heard. Not a foolish man, he'd seen the products and results of many a broken home – often those children weren't easily adjusted. Violent. Brooding. Harry carried a few of those traits and traces himself, though it was no fault of his own. Still... "Harry, what happened to Mr. Driscoll's dog?"

"I didn't hurt it!" the boy hissed at him, and Ian drew back slightly at how angry he sounded. "I didn't. Everyone always... looks at me like I'm about to explode or something." Catching his breath, Harry laid back and Ian noticed the tale-tell signs of the young man quietly sobbing. Reaching out, he smoothed the boy's hair back, seeing again that ugly scar that graced an otherwise clear forehead.

Ian couldn't help his nature, any more than Harry could his. It was his life, as a police officer that made him naturally suspicious and inquisitive. With children... Ian knew that the more troubled, the more troublesome such things became. "It's OK Harry, " he assured the boy. "I'm not upset, but I need to know. Just in case something happens."

Nodding, Harry sniffled but didn't open his eyes. Pulling the blanket up below his chin, the young boy finally settled his breathing, in such a way as allowing speech. "Monday I spoke to the mail man. I asked him if he knew anything that had happened next door. He told me that Mrs. Driscoll had moved away, across the city." Sighing, Harry settled back on his pillow, and the tension in his face relaxed as Ian's hand kept up the fight to put some order the young man's hair. "After that, I asked him if it would be OK to mail her. He said it would be. I got her address..." pausing a moment, he went silent and Ian wondered if he'd slipped off to sleep. A moment later, Harry spoke back up, quieter. "I called the Station. Gave them the address and asked Alan to help me get a phone number."

Surprised, Ian's hand stopped it's motion for a moment. Harry's eyes flickered open, and he swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize yet... but why ask the mailman, Harry?" Ian was actually very proud of the young man, but didn't want to let on to that. The story wasn't done yet, and so far, the only thing he'd done wrong was abuse his father's position at the Station for some personal information. Though Ian had assumed the worst initially, that maybe Harry had hurt the dog or simply let it loose, it was sounding like a much simpler situation. Still, the young man was showing a very canny knack for planning. That worried Ian slightly.

"You'd said that whenever you need answers, always check the mail and the trash," Harry answered, making Ian laugh slightly at the image such painted. "I didn't want to go through his trash, and thought maybe to just talk to the mailman."

Chuckling, Ian shook his head and heaved a relieved sigh. Apparently he needed to be more careful at speaking with his colleagues around the young man. "So... if I'm guessing correctly, you called Mrs. Driscoll and had her come by to get the dog?"

Shaking his head, Harry closed his eyes again. "No, Mr. Driscoll was being mean she said. Wouldn't give the dog to her. So I slipped into the back and untied him, and brought him out. I know it was wrong," Harry's face clouded a moment, but it only lasted long enough for Ian to notice. "It needed to be done. Everyone was so unhappy. Even the dog. It was quiet and happy once she was there."

Considering all the information, Ian was in a quandary. "You helped her steal the dog?"

"It was her dog," Harry asserted stubbornly, and at Ian's sigh he continued. "It was. Mr. Driscoll would even say so. You could hear him yelling for the bitch's bi-"

"That's enough of that, young man," Ian chided, trying to keep a straight face. In all honesty, Harry was right. When Ian had gone by Sunday to speak with the man, the kind of noise that Mr. Driscoll had spouted in regard to the dog made the man wonder why he had it. In the end the conversation turned nasty, and centered on Mrs. Driscoll. Apparently the man felt it just reward to keep the animal away from her, and miserable. It had angered Ian so much that day, dealing with the pig-headed old fool, that he'd been short and angry with his own family. Was that what spurred Harry on?

"Now, I don't condone what you did. In fact I'll be thinking of a punishment for you tomorrow. You know what you did was wrong, don't you Harry?" When the boy nodded, Ian leaned down and kissed the young man on the forehead. "Regardless... you did well. I'm proud of how you handled that."

Rising, Ian settled Harry's blankets, and turned to the door, stifling a chuckle to see a flash of blue eyes and black hair disappear down the hall. He was raising a family of sneaks, it seemed. "Sleep well, Harry. I'm sorry I misunderstood."

"S'ok," the boy replied tiredly, obviously giving in to his own weariness. Ian turned to close the door as the boy's final words reached him. "Was only an innocent animal. No reason to hurt _it_."

Pulling the door to, Ian stood outside of Harry's room, eyes unfocused as he stared at the door for long moments. He'd assumed the worst about Harry at first tonight. Scared and concerned, he'd burst in expecting to see a burglar, or... he didn't know what. Instead he saw his adopted son, looking back at him with those oddly intent green eyes.

When it was obvious Harry had done something to the dog, Ian had let his experience and expectations of people lead him to assume the worst. Harry had seen that, and told him otherwise. Ian believed the young boy, as well... it was too easy a lie to get caught in. Plus, he knew well from Alicia that children are lousy liars when they were sleepy. It was Harry's last remark that gave Ian pause.

"No reason to hurt _it_?" Mulling over the emphasis, Ian sighed and decided he needed sleep as much as his children. He'd already read the wrong things into one of Harry's statements, no reason to assume another was anything but what he said. Maybe thanks to Harry, they'd get some tonight.

-

* * *

-

Mr. Driscoll eventually gave up demanding Ian personally investigate how his wife managed to steal his dog. It was probably helped when Ian 'just happened' to have run into the woman, who 'just happened' to have the original receipt for the animal's purchase on her person. Said receipt 'just happened' to have her name on it, as well.

Ian would mourn the loss of his neighbor's money on the monthly poker nights, but in truth, the man was an annoying git and they were only too glad to fill his seat with someone's coat. It worked out just fine that the men had a falling out with their neighbor, as apparently the stress of dealing with his upcoming divorce had the man's health taking a turn for the worse.

Harry and Alicia of course never got along better, than after that day. True to his word, Harry stood up and apologized to Alicia, who in turn surprised them by doing the same, for her crossness and short temper that past week. Cementing his place in Alicia's good graces, Harry helped Melody that night in preparing a cake for them all. It wasn't the prettiest thing that Ian had seen, but Alicia's smile came close.

When spring was just starting to show in the neighborhood, Ian was surprised to see realtors speaking with a gaunt, rather drawn looking Mr. Driscoll. Though Ian was anything but a gossip, he did manage to pull aside the woman who lived across from them, whom he'd told Melody once 'had an ear to every door'. He figured it was time to catch up on current events.

"Right, Mr. Dris, you say? Terrible that. Been on the decline since the Missus left him. Speaking of Missus, the girl you have working for you is a rather pretty young lass." Ian nodded politely but kept his ears open. Already he regretted speaking with the woman. "Well, on to Chester. He'd had that awful dog locked up so long we felt like calling you and-"

Nodding, Ian took the woman by the shoulder, as he walked down the lane a bit. The reason for this being the man in question hobbling out of his house, looking for all the world like he'd eaten a porcupine with how he minced about and held his stomach. "Yes, the dog. Noisy business. What about his health? I don't remember him being so bad off earlier in the spring."

Blinking at their impromptu walk, the woman just shrugged and kept stride, figuring she could get something interesting out of the handsome officer if maybe she were willing to give a bit first... "Well, after that dog went away, there's a rumor he poisoned it! Could you believe that... well he's just been more and more the shut in." Looking about herself as if assuring that no one was around – not a hard task, they were alone on the street as far as one could see, Ian noted, the woman continued. "I heard he's taken to seeing things, and can't eat anything more than soup. The realtors were speaking on how he'd seize and clutch at his stomach."

"Really," Ian prompted, unaware that the formerly lively, if unpleasant, man had fallen so far.

"Aye, and to top it all, he's blaming the house. Says it's the memories. Can't blame him, I recall when he and the Missus moved in. Speaking of that, how's your daughter?" Smiling at Ian pleasantly, the woman purposefully crossed her arms and sighed dramatically.

Ian found it hard to resist rolling his eyes in exasperation. Here it comes...

"You know," leaning forward so the man could, if he desired, have a rather scandalous view of her neckline, the woman blinked at him innocently and dropped her voice to a whisper. "If you need a woman's touch with the young lady, or anything else about the house, do give me a call, Mr Grieve. We neighbors must press on together, after all."

It amazed Ian, that despite being a widower, and having attained that state in such a tragic way, that the few unattached women on this stretch of street managed to throw themselves at him at such regularity. He wondered how they managed to maintain their dignity, but rethought such an idea as a lost cause. Schooling his expression to a smile, Ian nodded politely and pointedly looked the woman in the eye. "I appreciate the offer, Wilhamina, but I find Melody handles most of the duties of governess well enough. Though I doubt in your schedule, such time would be available." Begging his leave, Ian strode quickly back to his home, feeling the venture little more than a waste of his time.

Two weeks later, Chester Driscoll had been found by the realtors, nearly dead after apparently throwing himself down a flight of stairs in a fit. All around the walls of the hall and study, marks of a cane or rod were obvious, as if the man were fighting off ghosts or visions. All the pictures in the man's home were ripped or torn. Doctors on site said he'd likely recover, but that any other business the men had should be done through a relative.

Mrs. Driscoll was seen only a day later, speaking with them at length. Later that week, the for sale signs were about the neighborhood, inviting people to look at the property.

_Mom,_

_It's hard to think how wrong I've been about Harry. I know I told you about how he fixed the problem with the dog, but after that I had to admit, he is a nice boy. _

_We get along better now. I think I understand him. He's quiet, because he's always thinking. Everything goes in that head of his and gets shaken around till it fits, and then he acts on it. It reminds me of dad sometimes. How he's always looking at things so carefully. I think Aaron would have liked him, if he'd been more active. You know how Aaron liked to play at ball. _

_Though we never really got along, Mr. D next door got really sick recently and had to move in with his daughter. There wasn't a lot of news about it, but we still had a quiet moment. I can't help wonder who our neighbors will be once the house gets sold._

_We have to get our water bottled for a while, because there's a contamination scare in the neighborhood, like that year before you died out in Corinth Square. It's not so bad, but dad's complaining about the cost being silly. _

Harry lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his room late into the night. It wasn't unusual for him to do this, in fact, had his adoptive father been awake or attentive, he'd find that Harry had become rather the insomniac.

He'd exhausted his supply of books already. Small novellas and things that he didn't understand were still devoured, trusting in time his mind would grow into them. Despite that he'd simply found himself... listless. Unable to clear his mind to sleep like he had for weeks since the night with Mrs. Driscoll and the dog, Harry grumbled and sat up rubbing at tired eyes that couldn't stay closed.

Idly, he wondered if he'd been careful enough. Though... things had worked out much different than he'd initially thought, it was still oddly satisfying. He was young. It wasn't like he _knew_ how these things worked.

Should he feel guilty? Images whirled about his head. Maybe while he was at the Dursleys he could understand the idea, why he should be feeling remorse but now... Blinking tiredly, Harry ran a weary hand through his unkempt hair and looked out the window, to the darkened residence beside his own. No. Guilt there wasn't something he felt, so much as was impressed on him. "You should be glad," or "you should be grateful," easily lead to guilt.

Would Ian be proud? Almost immediately a chill ran from his stomach to his heart. No. Ian wouldn't. The dog... he'd handled that well, on a lark. That Ian had been proud of. Monday he'd crept out and watched the noisome beast sit there and yowl piteously at the house, looking for all the world like the victim in one of his stories. That had stalled him, as he slipped the knife he'd stolen from Vernon back into his jacket. He'd went back home that day, and thought about things.

The next night he'd met Mrs. Driscoll, and helped her take the animal away.

Still, something had nagged at Harry. He wasn't _done_. It felt like the man still had some thing, invisible and unbelievably irritating staring at Harry, from his window at night. In his mind, he could picture it. Pale, colorless eyes, slick skin and nearly featureless. It glared at him and would not blink. He'd wake some night's staring at the window, seeing the two lit panes across the way and knowing his mind's imaginings were painting some thing there, to give him reason to be thinking so.

Shaking off the impression of memory, Harry sighed. He'd felt guilty before. Being cruel to Ally did that to him. He didn't feel guilty about the dog. But Mr. Driscoll still bothered his father. Ian shrugged it off, but...

It call came back, oddly, to Vernon. Vernon had been a cruel, mean, horrible man. In the way of children, Harry had built a parallel to the dog, for himself. Caged, kept unhappy and unable to change things. It wasn't balance. It wasn't even really needed... but Harry felt driven.

The dog was gone. The noise was still there.

Mr. Driscoll had become his Vernon.

Those black thoughts haunted him, realizing that there were people, just like Vernon out there doing horrible things still, with no one to stop them. Not everyone had Ian, he realized sadly.

Harry never did get to close that chapter in his life. Though Ian had saved him, he was still angry. Still hurt. Every time he heard an adult get angry, he automatically flinched and sought cover, and that he blamed on Vernon. But, unlike Vernon, Mr. Driscoll was right there.

After freeing the dog, he'd been able to sleep finally.

He'd had a month of quiet nights and peaceful dreams.

Now though, something was nagging at him again. It was what Ian had told him, if he let his mind settle into some semblance of order. Eventually all the thoughts came together and the answer was clear enough. Ian had told him, that sometimes bad people didn't get punished enough. He'd told Harry that sometimes the good guys couldn't do what needed to be done.

It fit. It really did... Ian had come home angry, obviously unable to help. He'd been unable to do anything, and he was the good guy. Mr. Driscoll had to be punished. People like Vernon couldn't just go about their nastiness without something happening. If Ian couldn't do it because he was the good guy, Harry knew what he had to do. At least... that's what he thought, at the time. The problem was... well what did he need to do?

Sighing, Harry fell back on his bed and groaned. He must not have understood right. Something was broken and he didn't understand.

Fitful and unable to keep his mind from whirring about in distressing directions, Harry finally slept.

-

* * *

-

Summer came with an unusual problem, in their household. School had let out for break, and though things had seemed to be going better for them all, at least to Ian's reckoning, it seemed Harry was unable to enjoy the holidays. Ian, having spent some time on the police force, had saved up a bit of vacation time and planned to take the family out to the countryside, someplace that they could shrug off the memories of a bad year and maybe get back to being themselves. Specifically, he wanted his children to relax, and hoped the less crowded, more open areas would help Harry break free of the melancholy that had taken him.

He'd gone so far as to ask Alicia what she thought was bothering Harry, and she'd simply replied that he'd seemed bored.

While Melody had taken the children shopping for the trip, they should need some new boots he figured, Ian stole into Harry's room, hoping for some hints on what they could do over the holiday. He could have simply planned a surprise, but this way he'd have more surety that what went on was something the lad would like. Ian had already set up something for Alicia, which the girl suspected with her birthday coming up soon.

Thumbing through Harry's books, Ian stumbled on a well read passage, it's corners often dogeared and yellowed with much handling.

Through the dozen or so pages, a quartet of people seemed be be settling in the wilds, displaced suddenly from their normal homes. Though they had the ship they'd traveled in, the alien landscape offered them little comfort. At once familiar but dangerous, often they would have to fight off strange beasts. Ian recognized the novel as a rather modern piece of liberal commentary, but tucked that criticism away for later. Likely Harry was yet too young to grasp the deeper meaning in the books words.

Camping though... that was a plausible idea. Grinning at his own childhood memories, Ian shuffled the book back into it's place, and went to pack a few more delicate items.

Melody and the children returned to find their father bustling about, and to Alicia's shock, he had out his hunting rifle. "Dad, what are you doing?"

"Well," the man said easily, grinning at his children happily, "I thought while we were on vacation, I might take Harry out for a little hunting and camping, like my father did for me." He immediately saw the error in what he'd said when her expression darkened. "Ally, would you like to come too? I didn't think you'd enjoy sleeping on sticks and having to sit in the bushes for hours stalking game."

Harry chuckled at his sister's contrasting impulses. He knew she hated being coddled like a porcelain doll – it was easy enough a lesson to learn, that she could fight her own battles. Though she hated being treated like a princess, Alicia liked to have her comforts available, but when she chose them.

Melody pulled his feet from the fire, when she tapped her chin and grinned at the young girl. "Well, Young Miss, while the boys are our playing in mud and feeding the mosquitoes, perhaps we can sit in and watch some films, and I can teach you the proper way to use my styling kit."

"Now Melody, she's a bit young for makeup and the like-"

"Oh you hush, sir. Taking the Young Master out to terrorize the animals, I think the Young Miss and I will be just fine."

Seeing that he'd painted himself into a corner, Ian threw up his hands and gave in.

Glenning Lodge was a property his family had owned, some said, back before the Acts of Union. Though the place looked to be old enough, it regardless had power and amenities modern. Though Ian had planned to go camping with Harry at some point of their trip, most of their time would be spent just relaxing and being a family, at the lodge itself.

Days were spent playing games, going about the grounds, sometimes swimming. Harry it turned out had no clue about water, and so was being taught with some difficulty by Alicia who insisted. Melody and Ian had suspicions she simply wanted the excuse to dunk her adopted older brother in the pool. Though by no means an accomplished swimmer by the time Ian was talking excitedly about camping, Harry could tread water and not fear for his life in a pool deeper than he was tall. He still had no chance of dunking his sister though, who seemed part fish with how she swam.

The tents packed and his rifle broken down and draped over an arm, Ian looked for all the world as if Harry were taking him out on a excursion instead of the other way around. Unsure of what to expect, but sharing some of his adoptive father's excitement, Harry hefted his pack and eyed it warily. The thing's weight dimmed his opinion slightly. "How far were we hiking?"

"Oh just a mile or two, far enough to see some of the wildlife," Ian replied, settling the straps of his own pack more comfortably. "Do you have your boots?"

Shaking his head, Harry pointed to his pack. "They're in here. I'm not used to them yet, they still hurt my feet."

Somewhat torn, Ian nodded and helped Harry repack, so his boots were strapped down outside the pack rather than taking up excessive room inside. Though they only planned to be out roughing it for two full days, Ian didn't want the young lad too put out. Books to read, swim trunks, a small book to press whatever he'd found or felt like keeping in. It made for an interesting pack, but had little room for the necessities. Given that most of those were a tad heavy, and that Harry was only seven, Ian was carrying most of their camping gear.

It wasn't that Harry was weak... well not entirely. Though the spring had been good for the boy, eating right and getting a normal amount of activity, he was still on the small side. He was healthier, his tone more normal than pale an sallow, and he'd filled out somewhat. There were the signs of a young man there that would likely be quite the talk about campus. Ian knew he'd done the right thing, and for Aaron's sake, was trying his best.

Hiking out wasn't as much the chore that Harry had imagined, in fact it was very interesting, judging by the barrage of questions the young man had. When they'd struck a mile out of the Lodge, give or take a few minutes, Ian stopped and looked about, trying to remember the site he and his father had used.

A slight clearing by the crook in a stream nearby jogged his memory. "Here we are! I'll set up the tent, and you can watch. Best way to learn."

"Alright," having never been camping, Harry wouldn't complain about learning something new. In short order they had a decent three-person sized tent, and all the trappings to start a small campfire ready.

Ian, Harry found out that night, had a distinct fondness for ghost stories. Though not normally easily frightened, there was something troubling to him, about the way they always played out. It grated on his sensibilities that someone or some thing could simply come back from the dead and affect the living in such a profound way. Wasn't it some fault of the ghost's self that they were cursed that way? Almost every story Ian told had the person be some tragic character. A woman with an unreturned love. A man who cherished money more than his own life. A power-hungry man who was struck down before his rule.

That night, Harry also found another problem with ghost stories. Apparently he was prone to wild imaginings. Sitting in his sleeping bag by Ian, all night he heard off and on as he wavered between sleeping and waking, an odd hissing conversation just on the edge of his hearing. He'd woken Ian at a point and asked if he heard something, but the man had only patted him on the head and grinned.

Harry knew dreams and his own imagination, and how they worked. It seemed strange that unlike the odd shadow that you could flick on a light and see was just a shirt on a chair, or rattle he found was just limbs on a window, this seemed... outside. He was comfortable, warm and nodding off then suddenly he was hearing this voice. Too distant to make out clearly, the lisping hiss was still loud enough to be disturbing. After an hour of wide-eyed worry and fear though, Harry came to the conclusion either it had to be the wind on something, or whatever was making it had no intention of coming closer. Sleep slipped over him as he puzzled over the voice's murmuring, it's cadence becoming oddly restful once his fear had waned.

Morning, thanks to Ian, came far too early. "Wake up Harry. We don't want to miss the deer.

Years of waking up early at the Dursleys had flown out the window once Harry had a soft, warm bed to sleep in. Not having to listen to their arguing or random fits of noise also did wonders. Sleeping bags did not. Or maybe he was just being cranky because that stupid voice last night kept him up too late. Grumbling mightily, the young boy managed to get dressed, eat some lukewarm oatmeal and pretend attention as Ian talked about deer stalking.

Midday found them an hour into their first hide. Crude and simple, Ian had picked one overlooking the steam, thinking they'd catch their prey coming to drink. For all he'd expected Harry to be impatient and fidgeting with excitement, Ian found the young boy to be very intent and still. Regardless they had another hour past lunch of waiting, before a doe managed to wander close enough to see.

Faster than Harry could think, Ian had lined up a shot and fired, causing the pretty, brown-coated animal to shudder, stumble and fall. "Clean shot," the man breathed with a smile. "That will be food for a few days."

The sound was startling, but what Harry saw was more so. There, pierced through it's chest the deer bled out into the stream, having fell forward into it. The vivid red of it's blood pumped free with force, while the animal itself stared blankly at nothing. It was thick, where the wound was, looking almost black against the deer's fur. As it spread in it's spilling, the color became more apparent, till fur met water. There, the lurid red blossomed into the water and spread. Transfixed by the sight, Harry stood and watched as the flow slowed, then finally stopped, feeling something like... sadness.

Blinking as Ian talked about something... he wasn't sure, as all his attention was on the deer, or more specifically the wound and blood, Harry pondered that feeling. Not sadness. Not anger. Disappointment?

With a start he realized Ian was waiting on an answer to some question, "I'm sorry sir? What did you ask?"

Smiling kindly, the officer mistook Harry's preoccupation. "It's OK. The first time is never easy. I was saying, why don't you go back and prepare the camp, while I dress the deer. I'll be about an hour, then we can have our first sample for tonight's meal." Seeming to grow thoughtful, Ian checked to make sure his small pocket radio was working. Getting a healthy squawk from it in answer, he nodded. "I'll call in Gary to come help us get this out to the Lodge once we're ready to head back."

Curious to see what Ian was planning, Harry was again... disappointed? It seemed so... in that he'd miss seeing the next step. Reasoning that Ian would bring him back out camping again some holiday, Harry sighed and started the small trip back to their tent.

Though it wasn't far, Harry had some time to think. Again, his mind was flush with the images of the deer, and he puzzled over the excitement he'd felt. It was just another animal... but that wasn't right. It had nothing to do with the deer, itself. Deep in thought, the trudging trip passed quickly only taking about five minutes. Harry fell onto one of the nearby logs they'd pulled up for seats and muttered darkly. Mind whirring with questions and conflicted and equal parts fascination and annoyance, his irritated monologue ended abruptly when a familiar sound broke into his thoughts.

Standing warily, Harry listened, trying to pick the voice out of the surrounding sounds. Though the weather that day had been clear and good, it was windy, something he cursed now when the voice too had a hissing kind of breathy quality. Ducking under the flap of the tent, Harry listened for the voice and shortly was walking slowly in it's direction.

_"__Thoughtless fool, come no further!"_

Stumbling in surprise, Harry sat down hard and looked about him frantically. He'd heard it clearly this time, and loudly! Disturbingly, there was no one about to have spoken. Though louder, whoever was speaking had little force to their voice, and the words seemed, for lack of a better description, small. Seeing no other course, Harry called out, "Who's there? Where are you?"

A rustling to his right brought Harry's attention, and his eyes widened in shock. He'd not heard from Ian about snakes and certainly didn't expect any here, but there was one right before him. Copper-colored eyes, and a pattern of scales colored like a zipper in black and gray, it blended in with the scree and fallen leaves well. Scrambling back in fear he froze when the adder that startled him rose up and hissed, _"I said be still! Blind and stupid..."_

It was then that Harry realized the snake was speaking to him. Mouth working rapidly while his mind tried to reason out how this could be, Harry watched the snake as it stared back at him. Without thinking, he spoke back, "You can talk to me?"

Though he'd clearly heard the snake speak, or so he thought, Harry could only assume the adder didn't understand him, as it continued to mutter and curse at him, slipping about as if pacing before him in a half circle. _"... stupid beasts traipsing about nests, disturbing the young and old alike. Would like to see them sit out in the cold and wind all night sometime..."_

"Can you understand me?" Again, feeling foolish Harry queried the animal, which barely seemed to notice him other than when he moved. That got it's attention quite easily.

This time the snake seemed to roll an eye at him. _"Stupid beast makes stupid yowling while I sit and starve. Too cold to hunt, too angry to sleep in the warmth..."_ Finally Harry managed to see the adder's full length, sighing in relief to know it was only two-thirds of a meter long. Perhaps big for an adder, but not too big, like those monstrous things in movies.

Listening to the snake mutter and gripe, Harry tried to understand how it could be speaking. That lead to trying to understand how he could understand it – did all snakes speak the Queen's English? Thinking about it harder, Harry had to admit what the snake was saying didn't _sound_ like English. Perhaps he was just understanding what it spoke. The question then was _how_. Concentrating a moment, Harry addressed it, this time with his eyes shut tight and focusing on the way the adder had sounded. _"Can you understand this?"_

Immediately, the rustling before him stopped. Opening his eyes, Harry was greeted with the feather-flick of the adder's tongue against his nose. Gasping slightly in fright, he nonetheless stayed stock still, afraid the adder would strike if he moved. _"So. The beast isn't as stupid as it looks. Somehow the beast knows the language of those who creep, and crawl, and hiss. Tell me, not-so-stupid beast, how do you know this?"_

"I don't know," was Harry's automatic answer, again in English. It apparently wasn't the right one, as the adder hissed again, it's breath awful this close.

_"Back to yowling, perhaps I was mistaken..."_

Concentrating, Harry tried again, _"I am not used to this."_

Again, the snake flicked him lightly with it's tongue. _"Curious. Few know our tongue, fewer still unaware."_ Slithering about again, the adder seemed to resume it's pacing. _"What to do with it?"_

"Excuse me?" More comfortable with words than uncertainty, the young boy waited for his host to answer.

Looking pointedly back toward their camp, the adder slid closer. _"Good home, beneath the roots. But now, no prey will come here. Smells of you and your kind. Many weeks to pass."_

Harry was at a loss. Every time he tried to move, the adder would hiss and coil as if thinking to strike. Whatever he said, it ignored or didn't fully understand. Thinking to stand and escape the angry snake, Harry waited for it to be slithering away in it's pacing, and shifted his hands behind him. He'd planned to simply jump up and run, hoping he was fast enough. Moving very slowly, the young boy pushed himself up on his knees but a flash of gray and a sharp sting had him falling over and grasping a now burning shoulder.

Eyes tearing at the pain, Harry looked for the adder but only heard it's grumbling and hissing as it moved away, _"Should have bitten the other one when it stumbled over the nest. Now I must wait. Stupid beasts, should..."_ Eventually Harry lost the voice in the sounds of the forest, and stood hesitantly, hand over the bite on his shoulder.

Swallowing hard, he lifted his hand to look at the spots burning on his shoulder and panicked. "Dad! Help!" Two simple wounds glared back at him, while a small web of red spread slowly as he watched, beneath his skin. "Dad!"

Running uncertainly to the camp, Harry's watering eyes had him stumbling over camp items, as he burst through the trees. Unsure what to do, he screamed and just sank down on one of the logs, too scared to think.

Ian had just gotten off his radio with Gary when he heard Harry's scream. Running hard back to camp, the deer forgotten, he arrived and looked around, seeing his son sobbing on a log, his hand over his shoulder. "Harry? Harry!" Though the blind they'd found the deer at wasn't far off, it still was few minutes, so winded and scared in his own right, Ian simply slid down and held Harry at arm's length. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Sniffling and flushed, the young boy looked to his shoulder with scared eyes, "there was a snake-"

To Ian, it felt like the world had fallen from under him. Blinking, he cleared his stuttering mind and looked again at the young boy before him, looking for signs of shock. Dazed and looking pale and unfocused, Harry's breathing was rapid and shallow. Laying him down on the ground, Ian ripped open his pack and searched for the kit he'd brought.

On the urging of Melody, Ian had invested in a small supply of antivenin, knowing well they were well outside any emergency medical range and likely to be so for the entire vacation. Leaving one with the Lodge, he'd taken the other with them. A small freezer pack and it's own little box ensured the fragile material not be fouled on their hike. Despite preparation, Ian was fumbling and cursing his shaking hands. Adders weren't deadly for most, as they weren't extremely venomous in this part of the world – but for someone as young as Harry or Alicia, it could be.

Whimpering, Harry could see Ian doing something in the yellow box he'd packed, but was too tired and cold to ask what it was. When did he get back?

It took Ian a minute of fumbling till he called up the composure he needed to do his job. Odd, he thought in a distant way, how when things hit close to home how easy it is to fall to pieces. The needle he held in a shaking hand steadied, as he pulled saline from a small vial and injected it into the cooled antivenin. Shaking gently, he measured a careful dose and looked to Harry again.

His color had worsened, and the flush contrasted sharply with the paleness that had set in during shock. Snapping his fingers to get Harry's attention, Ian leaned over and watched as Harry's green eyes focused on him. "Hey there, OK. I'm going to give you some medicine to fix the bite alright?" The young boy nodded, and Ian took his arm firmly. "This will sting-"

Hissing in pain, Harry whimpered a bit as the cold serum met his bloodstream. "Now, I'm going to get this fire going, and call Gary. Can you sit up?" When Harry shook his head no, Ian pulled him close and got him upright against a log. Shortly he was wrapped in a blanket, as Ian yelled into the radio for Gary to hurry, that it was an emergency.

-

* * *

-

Their vacation had ended spectacularly, and though Harry felt bad that he'd been the reason why, the rest of his family was far from angry with him. Alicia had been a wreck for the three days he'd been in the Hospital, not leaving his side for more than a few moments, or when she was shooed off by the nurses or dragged home by Ian. The bulk of the shooing was done by the duty nurse, as Alicia seemed to have little problem bullying the meeker staff around.

After being pulled out of the woods by Gary's big truck, Ian had used to radio to call the Lodge and tell Melody what was going on. Harry still felt bad that he'd cut their vacation short by getting bitten, but realized they did only have a day left.

Aside from the snake bite, It had still been a very fun trip. He'd never really gotten to be out in nature before, and though the snake bite thing had put a damper on it all, he really did want to go back some time. Next time, Harry planned to talk Ian into teaching him how to shoot the rifle, so he could help with the hunt. Something about it still stuck with him, refusing to leave him. That idea, of being in Ian's place for the kill fascinated Harry. Yet, for all the fun they'd had, he still wondered at the talking snake a lot. That was one thing he'd only sparsely mentioned to anyone, after the first reactions the nurses had, to his questions. More tests, being put in a big silly machine and seeing people look at x-rays of him stopped that idea cold. Despite it, he'd managed to talk Ian into getting him a book on snakes of Europe, to look over.

If – he hoped more when! they went back out to the Lodge on vacation, he'd be prepared. To himself he added, and no more talking to strangers. Not many things seemed stranger than talking snakes, so that worked out just fine.

Another welcome change was in Harry's dreams. After their vacation he'd slept soundly, not being kept up long hours by troubled thoughts that whirled and hounded him. Though he only had three days to recover in the Hospital, Harry found being in bed most of the day, waiting on people with fake smiles to come and poke or prod at you gave you a lot of time to think. After the second night, waking fresh and happy from a long night of quiet, if new and odd dreams, he began trying to figure out what had changed.

It was the nature of his dreams. Both nights he'd dreamed, and in each one that deer was waiting. Each night he watched as it bled and died, while the dream went on in some odd fashion. The second night's dream he recalled clearly, because of the surreal way it played out.

He was sitting with Alicia in their classroom, as the day's assignments were being handed out. Taking his up, Harry noted a snake drawn there, that hissed and writhed on the paper, before snapping at his hand. He turned to the teacher who smiled and scratched an 'A' on the paper with a needle, making it go still again.

While he was massaging an aching hand, Harry watched with some expectation as the deer came into the classroom. Oddly, it walked up to the teacher's podium and stood silently, watching the class and waiting.

Harry looked around and noticed that the entire class was gone then, but he and Alicia. She was frantically, blurrily scribbling with crayons, on a wide piece of paper. It looked less like she drew as he was watching a video of her doing so sped up. Looking back to the animal, Harry saw that the adder from the woods was slithering around it's neck, murmuring things he couldn't hear.

Standing, Harry walked over to Alicia to see what she was drawing. Just as he'd reached her, she held up the picture proudly for him to see. There, drawn as well as a photo was Ian rifle. Harry reached into the paper as if it were the most natural thing in the world and took up the thing, pulling it out of the paper as if were simply a box.

Looking back to the head of their class, Harry saw the deer watching him expectantly. Hefting the rifle, Harry sighted down it like he'd seen Ian do and pulled the trigger.

There wasn't a noise, and wasn't a shock like he'd expected. The gun suddenly wasn't there as he watched the deer fall. No water this time to catch the blood, it streamed and gushed it's way from the fallen animal in a torrent. It was like it had more blood inside it than was possible.

As he watched the vivid red flow across the tile the room seemed to tilt, or his vantage of it did. Looking up he saw a deer-shaped pool on the ground far above, and the great waves of blood that coursed down the slope toward him. Unafraid he opened up his arms, only to be woken by a nurse gently shaking him awake.

Such was his dreams, at least the one common factor in them for some time. Unsure why, each time it was him, not Ian or Alicia or even Vernon occasionally that killed the deer. Each time it was like a ritual, the death was preordained, just a precursor to the flood of rich, red blood that would wash over the dreaming world like a torrent. That was when the dream really began.

If Harry somehow didn't get to that point, or for some time had other dreams, he became fidgety, listless and irritable. Often, seeing such things in himself he'd try to go over that day in his mind before sleep.

He didn't understand why the sight had crystallized in his memory so. Despite that, he couldn't deny the feeling of satisfaction he took at watching it replay over and over, and in dreams in their surreal or strange ways.

What did it mean, that he dreamed in blood? He'd tried to read some of Melody's books on dreams but the words meant little to him. Beyond his seven years, they talked of things he had no meaning for. It was frustrating but he didn't worry on it long.

Harry went to school, did his work, occasionally got in pointless fights with other children, quarreled with his sister, schemed with her and helped her as well. He came home and was a good boy for his father, and Melody who though sometimes distant, still treated him well. Dismissing the peculiarity of his dreaming for just that, Harry got on with his life, enjoying being seven until the end of summer and his birthday.

The next year, he'd begin to learn the first of Ian's lessons.

-

* * *

-

A/N: Seven to sociopath isn't an easy jump. Getting there though. Likely next chapter will be after ch.3 of Fall.


End file.
